


Healing Hands

by PepperVL



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), ALL the comfort, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Both M/M and F/M Because Crowley's Pronouns Switch, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), F/M, Fluff, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Like The Lightest Angst You Can Imagine, M/M, Massage, Mild Hurt/Heavy Comfort, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slow Burn, The Bang Had A LOT Of Angst And This Will Fix It, so so soft, this is almost all fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 45,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22703686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperVL/pseuds/PepperVL
Summary: The best—and worst—part of being stationed on Earth is having a body. They make it possible to do things like drive fast cars and eat scrummy food, but they’re also prone to injuries that cause aches and pains. Fortunately for Aziraphale and Crowley, the clever humans have come up with non-miraculous ways to deal with them. Massage is especially useful… when they’re willing to let their guard down and allow the Opposition to lend a hand. It’s a bit closer than Heaven or Hell would like them to be, but as the only two field agents stationed full time on Earth, who else are they going to turn to? They can’t exactly complain to a human about pulling muscles while flying. And if sometimes a massage is more an excuse to be in each other’s company than a real need, well, who’s to know?-OR-6,000 years of slow burn told through massage and camaraderie.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 153
Kudos: 178
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	1. Noah's Ark

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the 2019 Good Omens Big Bang. I'd like to thank the mods for organizing it. It's been a blast and I've made a lot of wonderful friends while hanging out on the Discord Server. I hope that doesn't end. 
> 
> The mods were also great when, as I was rushing to finish this story in time for my posting date (which was originally last week), I got a call that my grandmother was passing. I appreciate both the support and the extra time as I obviously wasn't able to write while dealing with that.
> 
> I would also like to thank my betas: [Soap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soaponarope), [Bisasterdi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisasterdi/), [Artemis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotokaywiththerunning), and [Dee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard). They've poked me to write, helped me to decide what story I was going to do for the bang, wrangled my commas, corrected my typos, and yelled at me when I typed things that made no sense.
> 
> There will be art forthcoming in later chapters from my fantastic artists, and fellow Scattered MessesTM [Cheese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GottaGoBuyCheese) and [CynSyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynSyn).
> 
> A note on the footnotes: I have them set so if you're on a computer, you can hover the mouse over the link and it will tell you what the footnote says. If it ends in an ellipsis, either the footnote was too long to fit or there's more that wouldn't work in the hover text, so you'll want to click on those.
> 
> Chapters reference biblical stories or events in history. Most of the historical events were in the show, most of the biblical events weren't. I've used the chapter title to reference the event, but you don't need to be familiar. Everything that's required to understand is in the chapters. 
> 
> Lastly, I'm posting this as I get the sections edited and coded (because there is nothing like waiting for the last minute, right?), so they will go up as I get them done. Comments and Kudos will be my inspiration to keep going on the tedious work of editing and coding. <3

**3003 BC – Mount Ararat**

Noah put a dove back into a large enclosure filled with different kinds of birds and watched land on a nearby perch to preen its feathers. When it appeared settled, he shut the enclosure door and walked away, an olive branch clutched tightly in his hand and a spring in his step. As he rounded the corner, he called out for his sons. “Shem! Ham! Japeth!”

When the man’s voice faded away, the dove flew from its perch to an empty corner of the enclosure. It stared at what appeared to be nothing for a moment, then quite deliberately bobbed its head and poked its beak in the air. Another dove with the exact same markings as the first was suddenly visible, its head tucked beneath its wing as it slept.[1] The first dove watched it for a moment, poked the air again, and flew out of the enclosure.[2]

Once free, the dove flew past the other animals, through the grain storage area, and down into the bowels of the ship. When it reached the bottom level, it headed to the very back, behind the dwindling piles of supplies, where there was a small, miraculously unnoticeable alcove. There it paused, seeming to hang in midair as its body stretched, flowing downward until a blond man[3] in a white robe stood where the dove had been.

“Well,” he said, “that’s done. Thank Heaven.”

Another man-shaped being, this one with long red hair, a black robe, and a snake tattoo on the side of his face, raised an eyebrow. “ _Heaven_ put us in this situation, angel. The least they can do is get us out of it.”

The angel, for that is what the blond man-shaped being was, sat down. “Heaven didn’t get us into this situation, Crawly. You did when you rescued them.” He gestured towards the group of thirty children, ranging from barely crawling toddlers[4] to young teenagers, who were amusing themselves in the tiny area carved out behind the supplies.

Crawly’s other eyebrow joined the first in its quest towards his hairline. “It’s not my fault the Almighty got tetchy and decided to drown the locals. She doesn’t listen to me.[5] This is all your lot.”

“You’re a demon, Crawly. I’m sure you tempted people into misbehaving.”

“I didn’t tempt them into anything that justifies drowning kids, angel.”

“Well, you thwarted that, didn’t you?” It had been twenty days into the storm before Crawly had done a miracle big enough to catch the angel’s attention. He probably should’ve fought the demon and thrown them all overboard, but there was so much to do to keep the animals calm and to keep Noah and his family from realizing there was an angel on board that he simply hadn’t had the time. Just convincing the carnivores to eat the grain pellets instead of the other animals had taken a solid week, and the less said about the one unicorn Shem had gotten aboard, the better.[6]

“I saved thirty kids, Aziraphale, and I barely managed that. Hundreds more died just because they lived in the wrong place.”

Aziraphale twisted his hands in his lap. This was obviously a _thing_ for Crawly, but he didn’t know how to fix it. He’d done as many miracles as he could to keep the kids alive and unnoticed by Noah’s family without attracting attention from Above. “Well, the Almighty is going to promise not to do it again. That’s what the Rain Bow will be for.”

“Yes. _So_ kind of Her.” Sarcasm dripped from Crawly’s words like water off a boat. “I’m sure that will make _everything_ better.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and looked away. He couldn’t question the Almighty’s plan, not even when it involved things like, well, like _this_. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Crawly. I don’t understand the Plan, but I’m not supposed to.” He bit back the urge to say it was ineffable. Crawly was already in a mood, and Aziraphale didn’t want to irritate him unnecessarily. “I just have to do what I’m told.”

“I know.” Crawly leaned back against the curved side of the ship in a way that would become very familiar over the next several millennia. “So, how was it outside? Enjoy being a dove?”

Aziraphale drew himself up, gathering his dignity around him like armor. “It… isn’t my favorite form to take.” He would never criticize any of God’s creations or question his orders from Above, but while he was certain doves were perfectly lovely birds he was not inclined to ever be one again. “If I'm to be perfectly honest—which I always am—”

“Course. You’re an angel.”

“Yes, precisely. And to be perfectly honest…” Aziraphale leaned towards Crawly, his back still straight, “I transformed back into myself as soon as I was sure no one could see me.”

“No!” Crawly looked at him with the same pleased astonishment as he had when Aziraphale admitted giving away his flaming sword. “You didn't stay a dove the whole time you were gone?”

“I couldn't! I didn't know how far it was to the tree, and it's so exhausting to fly in such a small form! It seemed silly to maintain an illusion when no one could see and—” Aziraphale straightened further until he looked like a string was pulling his upper body toward Heaven and nodded his head decisively. “If I have to fetch sticks because the real dove can't be trusted to do it, I should get to stretch my own wings!”

Crawly _hmmed_ agreeably. “It's only fair. Did you enjoy the flight?”

“Quite.” Aziraphale wiggled happily, then winced as the movement pulled something in his back. “Oh dear.”

“What?” Crawly sprang up from his slouch, gaining his feet before he’d finished the word. His slit pupils dilated until they looked almost round as he frantically looked around the hold, trying to pinpoint the threat. “Did you sense something?”

“No!” Aziraphale pressed his hand to his chest as he tried to calm his rapidly beating heart. (Corporations could be damned inconvenient sometimes.) “Sit down, dear boy.” He patted the deck next to him. When Crawly made no move to sit, Aziraphale sighed, then looked straight into Crawly’s eyes so he could be certain what he said was the truth. “There is no one close, Crawly.” The demon would know that too if he had bothered to check, but Aziraphale was happy to reassure him. “I simply had a muscle twinge.”

“A _muscle twinge_.” Crawly rolled the words around in his mouth like they were a new delicacy. Amusement sparkled in his eyes as he glanced down at Aziraphale and grinned. “Really? I didn’t know angels got _muscle twinges_.”

“I don’t imagine they usually do,” Aziraphale said primly as he folded his hands in his lap and straightened his shoulders. “Only, it’s been such a long time since I’ve properly flown and it felt oh so nice and I… did a bit much.”

“A bit much?” Crawly’s grin was truly delighted now. “What? Did you fly too far? Race against your reflection in the water? Throw the branch and try to catch it?”

Aziraphale looked away. “I did loop-de-loops,” he mumbled, the words barely audible, even to himself.

That got Crawly to finally sit. “You _what_?”

“I did loop-de-loops, all right? I’ve always enjoyed flying and there was no one around to see and well, I couldn’t resist! I did one and it went so well that I couldn’t resist doing more and I did too many.” His shoulders slumped with the admission. “I didn’t realize I’d overdone it until I turned back into a dove. Almost dropped the branch.”

“That wouldn’t’ve been good.”

“Indeed it wouldn’t. I hate to think what Gabriel would’ve said if I’d mucked up my mission to bring hope to Noah and his family.”

“The guy’s got instructions to send out a bird every seven days, doesn’t he? You just would’ve had to go again next week.”

“I doubt Gabriel would see it that way.” Aziraphale leaned closer to Crawly as if he was about to share some deep secret. “He's a stickler for the rules, you know.”

Crawly didn't remember much of Heaven and therefore did not know, but he nodded anyway. _Stickler for the rules_ sounded about right for a place that had kicked half its inhabitants out for not doing as they were told. “Doesn't matter what he would've thought, though, does it? You got back with the branch. Mission accomplished.”

“Yes, but it means I don't dare use a miracle to fix this muscle twinge.” Aziraphale shifted as his back muscles pulled again. “I don't want anyone Upstairs to look too closely at the mission. I was meant to stay a dove the whole time.”

“Can't let them know you had a bit of fun, then.” Crawly leaned and looked at Aziraphale appraisingly as he held his hand behind the angel’s back, his fingers hovering so close that Aziraphale could feel the heat through his robe. “I could take care of it. If you want.”

It was a tempting offer, though Aziraphale supposed that was rather the point. Crawly was a demon, after all. Temptation was his job, and it was Aziraphale’s to thwart him, no matter how much appeal the offer held. “Best not,” he said, the reluctance in his voice not at all feigned. “I’m due to report in after this, and I wouldn’t want anyone to sense demonic energy when I do.”

“D’you think they could?”

“I would prefer not to find out.” Aziraphale shifted just enough that he couldn’t feel the heat of Crawly’s fingers anymore. “We also don’t know if demonic miracles will work on an angelic corporation and I would definitely prefer not to find out the hard way that they don’t.”

Crawly opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “Uh, ah, w… Good point.” He dropped his hand to the deck and studied Aziraphale for a moment. “I could see if I can help the human way.”

“Humans have a way to fix muscle pain from flying?” That couldn’t possibly be right. Crawly was clearly having him on.

“No! Course not!” Crawly looked at Aziraphale like he’d left his wits back with the olive tree. “They get muscle aches from doing other stuff. Working and whatnot.” He waved his hand in a vague circle to indicate everything else humans did. Crawly was aware of what they did with most of their time, though he’d never tried most of it and therefore was uncertain how any of it led to muscle aches. “I’ve seen them help each other when it happens.”

“Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” Aziraphale said in a tone that made it clear he was not convinced that was true. “What do you do?”

“Here. Move forward a little. I need to get behind you.” As Aziraphale scooted forward, Crawly wriggling around like the snake he’d been until he was settled against the side of the ship with one leg on either side of Aziraphale. “And lean forward against something. It won’t work if you’re not braced against something.”

It took Aziraphale a moment to think of something—supplies were limited after this long on the ark—but then he miracled a sack of grain onto his lap and leaned forward, folding his hands on top of it and resting his chin on them. “Like this? It hurts more this way, not less.”

“Patience.” Crawly guided Aziraphale into a slightly different position so the sack of grain was the only thing holding him upright and his back muscles were relaxed. “Now, where does it hurt?”

“At the base of my wings. Well, where my wings would be. Or is it where they are? They aren’t actually gone, just—oh!"

Crawly pushed his thumbs into Aziraphale’s back right where the base of his wings would’ve been. It hurt at first, enough to make a small noise escape his lips, but then something released in his back and the pain melted into pleasure. “That is… unexpectedly nice.”

“Didn’t think I had it in me?”

“Didn’t think it was possible at all.”

“Humans are marvelously inventive, aren’t they?” Crawly dug his fingers in and slid them up Aziraphale’s back.

“Indee—” Aziraphale bit back a moan as Crawly’s fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Indeed they are. They’re wonderful that way.”

“You think they’re wonderful in every way, angel.” Crawly rolled his knuckles over the spot that had nearly made Aziraphale moan, kneading the knot until the muscle relaxed. “You _like_ them.”

“So do you!” Aziraphale said, aiming for righteous outrage but hitting half-hearted protest.

“Never said I didn’t.” Crawly pressed his knuckles to either side of Aziraphale’s spine and slid them up and down, soothing the tightness away.

Aziraphale slumped further in response, his upper body now entirely supported by the bag of grain. “Mmm.” He blinked his eyes open—when had he closed them?—and tried to remember his point. It would’ve been easier if Crawly’s hands weren’t still on his back, now rubbing soothing circles instead of applying pressure to taut muscles.

His hands didn’t stop moving as he leaned in. “Better?”

If in the future Aziraphale was asked to describe the sensations he was currently experiencing, he would have waxed poetic using phrases borrowed from popular literature, perhaps likening it to Sam finding Frodo after the One Ring was destroyed,[9] but literature hadn’t been invented yet[10] so he could hardly quote it.[11] Instead, he nodded lazily and made a soft sound of affirmation. His back had stopped hurting, but he wasn’t sure he could move.

Crawly took the option away from him, tugging gently on Aziraphale’s shoulder until he was sitting upright. He glared, not liking the fact that he had to use his muscles again, but Crawly just smirked as he slithered out from behind Aziraphale. “Would’ve undone all my hard work if you’d stayed in that position. Can’t have that.”

“Indeed not.” Aziraphale stretched and miracled the bag of grain to the pile of supplies. “I suppose I ought to file my memo, anyway. Wouldn’t want anyone Upstairs to get too curious and start poking around down here.”

“Thought curiosity was discouraged among angels, or has that changed?” Crawly asked in a tone as bitter as the aftertaste of wine after Aziraphale miraculously sobered up.

“Curiosity isn’t discouraged, just…” Aziraphale pursed his lips and rolled phrases around in his brain like balls in a lottery picker. He finally settled on, “Curiosity about _certain thing_ s is discouraged. We’re not to question the Almighty’s plan, for example, but curiosity about whether assignments have been completed is allowed. Encouraged, even.” Aziraphale smiled, though he didn’t mean it.

“Oh, well. As long as they’re asking questions about the _right_ things.”

“Indeed. Though, rather, the point is to have them not ask questions about anything here.” Aziraphale widened his smile until saccharine practically dripped from it. “I’m off then. Pip pip and all that.” He stood and focused on his connection to Heaven.[12]

“Right.” Crawly added at least ten vowels.[13] “ _Pip pip._ What’s next, ‘toodle-oo’?”

“Possibly!” Aziraphale said, and vanished.

* * *

[1] This dove was very confused when it later received greens and praise for bringing back an olive branch. It had been dreading going out again, but before the man had taken it from the dry enclosure, it had encountered a new dove and then it had gotten very tired. It had had a lovely dream about building a nest in a nice shrub and filling up on berries, but it had not encountered any trees in its dream, olive or otherwise. The whole thing was so confusing that when it was sent out again seven days later, it decided not to return. [Return to text]

[2] An observer would not have thought the dove would fit between the bars of the enclosure—they were designed to keep the birds in, after all—but the dove expected to be able to slip through, and the bars were surprised to find themselves accommodating him. [Return to text]

[3] Man-shaped being, anyway. He was no more a man than he was a dove. [Return to text]

[4] The youngest was 270 days old, to be exact. She’d been only 3 days old when the rain had started and Crawly had miracled her mother to sleep so he could sneak her aboard the ark. [Return to text]

[5] This was not true, though Crawly wouldn’t know it for more than five millennia. [Return to text]

[6] Eventually, he’d set it free and convinced the humans[7] unicorns weren’t real. It wasn’t ideal, but he hadn’t gotten any stern memos from Head Office so he supposed it turned out all right. [Return to text]

[7] All 38 of them. Unicorns weren’t indigenous to Asia, Australia, or the Americas, fortunately.[8] [Return to text]

[8] For Aziraphale. Not so much for the unicorns. [Return to text]

[9] ”In all that ruin of the moment he felt only joy, great joy.” (JRR Tolkien, Lord of the Rings: Return of the King) [Return to text]

[10] Writing had only just been invented, and lists and reports weren’t very inspiring. Plus, the tablets weren’t exactly circulating around. [Return to text]

[11] He _could_ quote the stories the humans _told_ , but Crawly had heard most of the same stories he had and would thus know he was quoting. [Return to text]

[12] The front door was inaccessible, what with all the flooding. [Return to text]

[13] Fortunately, they were all consecutive with the first one and were all i. [Return to text]


	2. Tower of Babel

**2831 BC – Plains of Shinar**

Aziraphale stood outside the remains of the tower, staring up at the still impressively high structure. By the time Gabriel and Sandalphon had arrived bearing orders to destroy the tower and scatter the people building it, it had already been four times taller than any other building in the area. What remained was still the tallest by at least a story, though with most of the interior supports destroyed, it wouldn’t remain that way for long. At the moment, it posed a great danger to anyone who entered, so Aziraphale—absent any more pressing orders—had appointed himself to guard it from anyone who might find their way back to the city.

“You’ll get a crick in your neck if you keep staring up like that.”

A grin spread on Aziraphale’s face as he turned toward the speaker. He tried to school it away as soon as he realized—he shouldn’t be _happy_ to see a demon—but this particular enemy was far more bearable than the allies he’d spent the day dealing with. “Crawly. I’m surprised to see you here. There’s no one left to tempt.”

“Well, there’s always you,” Crawly drawled, his eyes sparkling mischievously. Then, before Aziraphale could muster a coherent protest, he grinned. “I’m joking. I just…” He sighed, all of the humor leaving him in a rush as he regarded the ruins of what would have been humanity’s greatest accomplishment to date. “I had to see what was left.”

“Not much, I’m afraid. And what is won’t stand for much longer. Gravity and all.” Aziraphale sat on a large, squared-off stone that would never be put in its intended place in the tower. “I don’t know how you can joke right now. These people were going to accomplish something and now it’s all ruined.”

“’S a coping mechanism, angel.” Crawly sat down next to Aziraphale and pulled a jug out of his robes. “Makes it easier to deal when the Almighty gets into a snit and decides to destroy everything. _Again_.” He raised the jug to his lips and took a long pull.

“She didn’t kill anyone this time,” Aziraphale offered, knowing it didn’t matter much when all of the city’s former inhabitants were scattered to the winds. “She simply… had us do what they were supposed to do themselves after the Flood. They were never meant to stay together in one place.”

Crawly made a noise that didn’t quite express the amount of skepticism he was feeling. “I suppose I should be comforted to know it wasn’t _just_ because I encouraged them to build this tower. I think I’ll tell Downstairs it was, though.”

Aziraphale whipped his head around to stare wide-eyed at Crawly. “ _You_ encouraged this? Why?”

“They wanted answers. I gave them ideas about how to get some.” Crawly shrugged, trying to look casual, but not entirely hiding his feelings. He’d _liked_ the tower, been proud of the idea, and then the Almighty had to go and ruin the whole thing. The humans had been working together to find answers. They weren’t actually going to get to Heaven—it wasn’t really in the sky anymore than Hell was underground—but they would learn a lot in the process of building.

“Why would you encourage them to reach it when you know it’s not possible?”

“It was a temptation, angel. That’s what they’re all about… encouraging people to do what they want instead of what they should. Doesn’t matter that they weren’t going to reach Heaven. They’d already learned quite a bit just building, and that’s what they really wanted.” Crawly held the jug out to Aziraphale after taking another sip. “Wine? It’s not the best I’ve had, but it’s drinkable.”

Aziraphale took a sip of wine and frowned at the jug. “You have a very loose interpretation of the word ‘drinkable,’ my dear fellow.” He concentrated for a moment then took another sip. The wine was quite surprised to suddenly find itself a vintage that hadn’t made its way to this part of the world yet. “Much better.”

Crawly took the jug back and took a cautious sip. “Oh, that is nice. I’ll have to remember that. What did you change it to?”

“This lovely vintage I had the last time I was in China. One of the first wines the humans figured out how to make, I believe. You would think they’d get better over time, but apparently there are factors other than skill involved.”

“Different grapes, I think. Would that affect the wine’s taste? It would have to. Different grapes taste different.” Crawly took another sip while he ruminated. “Dunno what grapes were in here originally. These are better.”

Aziraphale cast a _look_ at Crawly. “Please tell me you didn’t _steal_ that wine.”

“So what if I did? ‘S not like anyone’s coming back for it. Your lot knocked down their tower, made them all speak different languages, and miracled them all over the continent. Can’t bring them back, so I might as well remember them by drinking their wine.”

There was an underlying ache in Crawly’s words that made Aziraphale regret his comment about stealing. He’d tried to make sure possessions went with people, but Gabriel had barely understood the idea of keeping family units together and Sandalphon had been anxious to get to the knocking things down part. It wasn’t surprising that belongings got left behind.

He drew himself up as though he were going to make a Pronouncement and said, “Well, you could’ve at least stolen something _palatable_.”

“I’m surprised there was anything left behind.” Crawly offered the jug back to Aziraphale. “I thought you’d’ve miracled everything along after them. That seems like your sort of thing.”

“I tried, but Gabriel is the one who sent them along. I… confused them. Made them speak different languages.” Aziraphale took an extra long sip from the jug, trying to drown out the memories. He’d hated doing it—they’d been creating the most wonderful stories while they worked and learning the most delightful things—but taking that job had let him choose which people stayed together. Gabriel had sent all the humans who spoke the same language to the same place, at least, and Aziraphale had been in the city long enough to know who belonged with who. He’d been able to keep families and close friends together at least.

“You know, I think I messed up the bit that’s eventually going to be French,” Aziraphale mused as he handed the bottle back to Crawly. “Sandalphon had started to knock down the tower as I was doing that one, and there were still people inside! I just shoved it all in their heads and ran to stop him. I do hope it doesn’t get too jumbled up.”

“I’m sure they’ll sort it out.”

“Oh, I do hope so.” Aziraphale rubbed the back of his neck, trying to soothe the ache that had crept in now that he wasn’t moving frantically around the city. In the years since Crawly had helped him with his sore back on the Ark, Aziraphale had discovered that he could apply the same concept to aches elsewhere on his body, though he’d never managed to provide as much relief as Crawly had that first time.

Crawly noticed as he turned to pass over the wine jug. “What’s wrong? Did you manage to hurt yourself while teaching the humans a new language?”

Aziraphale cast an annoyed glare at Crawly as he took the wine. “If you must know, I tripped over a beam when I was trying to stop Sandalphon. I thought I was fine, but…well, I have a twinge in my neck now. I’m sure it will get better in time.”

“Of course it will.” Crawly set the jug down and shifted slightly so he could press his fingers into Aziraphale’s neck where he’d been rubbing. “Here?”

Aziraphale’s hum of affirmation turned into a soft sigh as Crawly’s fingers deftly worked at the tight muscles. It wasn’t long before his head started drooping as his muscles relaxed too much to hold it up. He was vaguely aware of Crawly shifting next to him, and then a hand pushed his head forward until it was resting on Crawly’s shoulder.

“This all right?” Crawly asked softly as he brushed his fingers over the soft curls at the nape of Aziraphale’s neck. With his shoulder supporting Aziraphale’s head, it was even easier to push against the knots in Aziraphale’s muscles until they relaxed.

Aziraphale made a soft noise in response. He intended it to be one of affirmation as this was absolutely delightful, but Crawly’s fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot at just the wrong time, and it came out as a strangled moan instead. Crawly froze, not sure how to interpret the sound, then started to pull back. “Sorry, should’ve asked fir—”

“No.” Aziraphale cut him off mid-word. “Well, no, not _no_ , I mean, yes.”

Crawly’s fingers remained frozen in place, though his shoulders shook with repressed laughter. “Which is it, angel? Yes or no?”

Aziraphale lifted his head and tried to look indignant when he realized Crawly was laughing at him. Given that he was mostly feeling grateful for the demon’s assistance, however, he suspected it failed.[14] “Yes, it is all right,” he said primly. “No, don’t pull away. It was… helping.” He almost said it was pleasant, but stopped himself at the last moment. He wasn’t supposed to think any interaction with a demon was _pleasant_. 

“Hmm. All right.” Crawly pushed Aziraphale’s head back down and resumed massaging the sore muscles in his neck. “Tell me if I do something you don’t want.”

“I very much doubt you would, but if you insist.”

“I’m a demon. You’re an angel. I touched you without permission.” Crawly’s fingers stilled as he took another sip of wine. “It could’ve been ba—not good.”

“Well, I don’t expect you should touch me like this when others are around—wouldn’t want word getting back to our Head Offices—but I do hope we have more opportunities for this sort of thing when we’re alone. It’s simply delightful.”

“The humans seem to like it.”

“As they should. It really is a pleasure.” Aziraphale wiggled contentedly, which had the added bonus of moving him closer to Crawly. The demon was comfortable to lean against despite being rail-thin, and he smelled pleasantly of wine and fire. It shouldn’t have been this easy to unwind around his supposed enemy, but between the way Crawly’s fingers were moving over his neck and the softness of Crawly’s tunic against his forehead, Aziraphale was more at ease than he’d been in weeks. “You must let me return the favor sometime.”

Crawly made a non-committal noise as he worked the tension out of Aziraphale’s neck. He moved slowly, enjoying the feeling of the angel leaning against him, his weight growing heavier as he relaxed further. When the knots were gone and Aziraphale’s neck was as loose as it was possible to be, Crawly simply stroked his fingers up and down, marveling at how he’d been given permission to touch. When Aziraphale’s breathing started to match his slow strokes, Crawly reluctantly stopped. “All right, angel?”

Aziraphale blinked several times without otherwise moving, trying to get his bearings. His whole body felt heavy, especially his head, and it was with great effort that he lifted it from Crawly’s shoulders. “Y-Yes,” he managed, though it took all of his current brain power to make sense of Crawly’s question. He felt drunk, far out of proportion with the amount of wine he had consumed, but his muscles felt looser than they had in a long time.

Crawly slid his fingers from Aziraphale’s neck to his shoulder, bracing the angel as he swayed slightly. “Easy.”

“I forgot how disorienting that can be.” Aziraphale shook his head, trying to clear it.

“I thought you liked it.”

“Oh! I do. Thank you, by the way. I don’t think I said that yet. It’s simply marvelous, but it leaves my head feeling as though I drank an entire jug of wine in one go, though without the unpleasant side effects.”

Crawly laughed. “Have a lot of experience with that, do you?”

Aziraphale huffed indignantly. “It didn’t— Well, it was— You see, I—” He wrung his hands together as he tried to think of what he could possibly say that would make Crawly stop looking at him like that. He opened his mouth, determined to deny the accusation, realized he couldn’t, and shut it again. “Just once,” he mumbled, not meeting Crawly’s eyes. “Maybe twice.”

“Once or twice?” Crawly’s expression morphed into delighted disbelief. It was an expression he would wear often around Aziraphale, most notably when the angel will insist guns lend weight to moral arguments. “Is that all?”

“They were experiments!” Aziraphale twisted his fingers together and continued to look everywhere but at Crawly. “I had to know how different wines affected me, I’ll have you know. I can’t help humans if I don’t know how these sorts of things work, you understand. It wasn’t gluttony.”

“Never said it was.”

“Well, don’t. I’ve already been told that once today. Gabriel made it quite clear that he didn’t think consuming, well, _anything_ was necessary.”

Crawly was enjoying himself too much to ruin it by sharing his opinion of Gabriel, so he hummed in acknowledgement and offered the jug to Aziraphale. “More wine?”

Aziraphale hesitated for a brief moment before taking the jug. “Thank you.”

“Don’t say that. We don’t want word of us… _sharing wine_ to get back to either of our superiors.”

“Still, I _do_ appreciate it.” Aziraphale passed the bottle back then settled in more comfortably and snapped his fingers, summoning some cheese and bread that had also been left behind when the humans were scattered. “Like you said, they aren’t going to eat it. It would be a shame to let this go to waste.”

* * *

[14] It did. He looked grateful and pleased and slightly put out that he’d had to lift his head. [Return to text]


	3. Sodom and Gomorrah

**2167 BC – Bela (soon to be Zoar)**

Despite currently being man-shaped, Crawly rounded the corner with a movement that could only be described as a slither. The square was full of people talking about what little they could see of the other four Cities of the Plain. The whole city thrummed with fear and doubt as the citizens speculated what had happened to their sister cities and whether it was coming for them next. Even from the tallest tower in the city, all they could see was smoke and fire in the distance, as clouds darkened the sky and divine wrath rained down.

Lot and what remained of his family had slipped into Bela early that morning without telling anyone what had happened, but rumors were already flying. People said demons had infiltrated the other cities and that God had destroyed the cities to smite the demons and those who’d harbored them from the Earth. It was not a good time to be a demon in Bela.

Crawly should have been gone—Aziraphale had warned him what was coming and told him to get out lest he be destroyed—but it hadn’t occurred to him that he would be in danger in the one city that wasn’t slated to be destroyed. It wasn’t until a woman had seen his eyes and screamed that he was bringing God’s wrath to them as well that he’d realized the danger and run as fast as he could.

He’d lost her—not an easy task without using a miracle that would attract the wrong sort of attention—and now he slunk around the city with his gaze firmly on the ground lest someone else see his eyes and conclude that the destruction was his fault. They wouldn’t be able to do more than discorporate him, but he _liked_ it on Earth, and _really_ didn’t want to deal with the paperwork[15] of getting a new body. So he slunk through back alleys, sticking to shadows and sliding quickly around corners when he was forced to step into the daylight. The ominous storm rumbling in the distance aided him by adding depth to the shadows, but he still wouldn’t be able to let his guard down until he found a place to hole up for the night.

He hurried, head down, demonic senses reined in tight so not to attract the attention of the angels in the area, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other as he headed to what he thought was a less populated area of the city. He slipped down a side street, then into an alley, then—

“There he is!”

“That’s the demon! Get him out of here!”

“Begone!”

“We won’t let you bring this down on us!”

A man threw a rock at him, hitting his shoulder. More rocks followed and Crawly ducked, covering his head with his arms and wishing it was safe to use a miracle to get out of here. It wasn’t, though; it would attract the attention of the angels and they’d do exactly what these people feared—destroy the city and its occupants in fire and brimstone. The irony of trying to save them while they were exhibiting the exact sort of hospitality that had gotten their neighbors smote was not lost on Crawly as he turned back the way he had come, twisting around their grasping hands as they tried to shove him in multiple directions. He flexed his spine farther than he should have in this form and something twinged in his lower back, but he ignored it, twisting free from the hands and running down the street as fast as he could.

He didn’t dare look back—it would slow him down and leave him to a fate worse than that of Lot’s wife—and he didn’t dare look up either. If the people in front of him saw his eyes, they’d grab him as quickly as those behind him had and he’d be pulled apart by the anger of the crowd. It should have been pleasant—a whole city giving in to anger and fear was a demon’s dream—but it was terrifying with all of it directed at him. He kept going, slipping into alleys and shadows like the serpent he’d been, trying desperately to outrun the shouts he could still hear behind him.

He slammed into someone, mumbled an apology without looking up, and tried to step around them. He needed to keep moving, to get away from the crowd, to find someplace to hole up until it was safe to slip out of the city. Hands curled around his arms, holding him firmly but gently, and it was only then that he noticed the white robe of the figure in front of him. “Aziraphale?”

“Whatever are you running from, Crawly?”

Crawly looked up, incredulous, but he didn’t see mockery on the angel’s face, only genuine curiosity. He could still hear the crowd behind him though, and knew they’d be visible in a moment. “Them.” He pointed back the way he’d come, doing his best to ignore the shooting pain he felt as he twisted. “They saw my eyes, decided it was my fault the other cities are being demolished.”

“Oh. Oh dear.” Aziraphale slipped an arm around his shoulders and started leading him toward the inn. “Let’s get you inside.”

“Can’t.” Crawly dug in his heels, tried to stop their forward movement, but the angel ignored him and kept moving, giving Crawly no choice but to come along. “I won’t get a room. They’ll throw me out. Or worse, throw me to _them_.”

“I have a room, my dear fellow.” Aziraphale steered Crawly into the alley by the side of the building. “And there are stairs right up to it. No need to go through the main room.”

Crawly eyed the stairs that went up to a lone door in the side of the building. “Those stairs weren’t there two minutes ago.”

Aziraphale hummed in agreement. “And they won’t be there two minutes from now, either. Does it matter?”

“No. Suppose not.” Crawly let Aziraphale lead him up the stairs and through the door he was certain had only existed as long as the stairs. He was proven right when, as soon as they were safely inside, the door vanished, replaced by a small window that swung open so the chamber pot could be emptied out it. He let Aziraphale lead him over to the bed and sank down on it gratefully. “I suppose I should say thank you.”

“Oh, please don’t. I wouldn’t want Sandalphon to get word that I was talking to you.”

“Doing a bit more than talking, aren’t you, saving me and taking me back to your room?”

“The stairs weren’t just for your benefit.” Aziraphale reached under the bed and pulled out a jug of wine. “I didn’t want rumors spreading that I was seen with you, either. It would only make things worse for both of us.”

Crawly took the offered wine, but when he tried to sit up straighter to drink it, his back seized and he doubled over in pain, the jug falling from limp fingers to somehow land upright on the floor. “Fuck.”

“What happened?” Aziraphale stepped close, his hands fluttering uselessly above Crawly’s back. “Are you all right?”

“Am I all right? What kind of question is that? Do I bloody well look all right?”

“I was merely trying to be polite.” Aziraphale gently guided Crawly until he was lying in the bed, curled up on his side. “Is that better?”

Crawly squirmed. “A little.” He grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist as the angel reached toward him. “Don’t.”

“It’s not a blessing, Crawly. It shouldn’t hurt you.”[16]

“No, but Heaven is watching this area right now. Do you really want to have to explain why you used a miracle to heal a demon?”

“Then why aren’t you healing yourself?”

“For the same reason. I don’t want anyone Upstairs to realize I’m still here. Your lot barely agreed to spare this city as it was. If they knew I was here… all these people would be dead too. I worked too hard saving some of them to let that happen.”

“Saving them?” Aziraphale pressed his fingers to his lips in shock. “Crawly, what did you do?”

“Just some kids. You know how I feel about killing kids. Their parents might have deserved what’s coming to them, but the kids didn’t.” Crawly shifted, trying to find a better position. There wasn’t one to be found, but that didn’t stop him from trying. “After you warned me, I gathered up as many kids as I could and brought them here.”

“What did you do with them? The people here aren’t much better than the ones in Sodom were. I can’t imagine they’d be anxious to take in kids, especially if they knew where they had come from.”

“I left them at the temple.” Crawly tried rolling onto his stomach. It helped for about three seconds, then he desperately wanted to get up, only he didn’t think he could move anymore. “I figured I could count on them to take care of the kids.”

Aziraphale raised one eyebrow in surprise. He hadn’t expected that Crawly would have trusted anyone at the temple. “That was a remarkably brilliant solution.”

“Yep. Clever. That’s me.” Crawly shifted, or tried to, but any movement of his lower body sent pain shooting down both legs and up his back. “Going to have to borrow your bed for a bit, angel. Don’t think I can get up.”

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale laid a hand on Crawly’s back. “Do you think shifting into a snake would help?”

“Might, but it’ll attract attention. ‘S how I got hurt in the first place.” Crawly tried to twist again, but his man-shaped spine and muscles weren’t having it and he collapsed back onto the bed, panting with the effort. “I’ll shift when it’s sssafe.” He cringed at the hiss, but the paint had pushed him past the point where he could control it.

Aziraphale frowned down at Crawly. He wasn’t supposed to care that the demon was in pain—he was a _demon_ , after all—but he was a demon who’d helped Aziraphale out when he’d been in similar straights, and Aziraphale was an angel who couldn’t stand to see anyone suffer, not even his supposed enemy. “Well then. Let me see what I can do.”

“You can’t—”

“I didn’t mean with a miracle. If that were safe, you could heal yourself. I’ll… rub it. Like the humans do. Like you’ve done for me.”

“You want to give me a massage, angel?”

“Why not? It helped when my back hurt. Maybe it will help yours too.” Aziraphale sat down on the bed next to Crawly and gently put his hands on Crawly’s back. “It might work better since you’re lying down.”

“Do you even know how?” Crawly should have wanted to squirm away from Aziraphale’s touch, but even the gentle weight of the angel’s hands felt good. If he was any good at this at all, it was bound to help. “Have you done it before?”

“No, but it can’t be that hard. _You_ figured it out.”

Crawly decided to be offended by the implied insult later, when Aziraphale wasn’t trying to help him. “All right, angel, give it a try.”

Even if the massage didn’t help at all, it would be worth it for the pleased wiggle Aziraphale did as soon as Crawly granted permission. That image alone made Crawly feel better, though his back still felt like nails were being hammered into it.

Slowly, Aziraphale pressed down on Crawly’s lower back. “Is this where it hurts?”

The pressure on Crawly’s back built until he felt like he was going to jackknife off the bed, then suddenly it felt like it had when he created stars. “Yessssss. More. More of. Of that.” He hadn’t realized how good it could feel when done with sufficient force. He’d traded massages with humans in the past, but he’d always had to hold back his strength and none of them had ever been able to do much for him. With Aziraphale, he didn’t have that worry or that drawback.

Aziraphale moved his hands just slightly and pressed down. Again, it felt like hot pokers were stabbing Crawly’s back, then like he was being healed by God Herself. “This isn’t too much pressure, is it? I don’t think I’ll hurt you, but I’ve heard the humans ask that when they’ve done these.”

“Didn’t know you’d tried it with humans.”

“Oh! No, not personally. But I’ve witnessed it. Watched, really. I didn’t feel right participating, but it was quite fascinating to see what they did.”

Crawly’s laugh turned into a moan as Aziraphale moved his hands again. Immediately, the pressure lessened, and Crawly hissed. “Don’t ssssstop.”

“Sorry. I thought—”

“No. Wasn’t that sort of moan. Feels good.”

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Aziraphale sat up straighter, pulling his hands off Crawly. He looked positively scandalized at the idea that Crawly could be getting that sort of pleasure from touch.

“Not _that_ sort, either.” Crawly rolled his eyes. He hadn’t made an effort beyond what was required to look right in a bathhouse, and he doubted Aziraphale had either. It was too much of a bother in his opinion. “It felt good, is all.”

“Oh. I apologize. I shouldn’t have assumed.” Aziraphale relaxed as he resumed applying pressure to the base of Crawly’s spine. “Is this all right, then?”

“’S good, angel.” Crawly shifted slightly and was pleased to discover that it was actually possible to move a bit now. He pulled his arms up and rested his head on them as he relaxed into Aziraphale’s touch. “Everywhere down there is good. My whole lower back hurt.”

Aziraphale slid his hands up Crawly’s back a little, hitting different muscles. It felt good, but not sublime like it did lower, and Crawly wiggled in an attempt to get Aziraphale to move his hands back down.

“Patience, my dear.” He kept moving his hands up Crawly’s back, pushing in and then pausing as if to gauge the demon’s reaction.

“’S nice up there, but not… that’s not where it hurts.”

“I know.” Aziraphale slid his hands lower and pressed in at the base of Crawly’s spine.

Somehow, it felt even better than it did before, and despite his best efforts, Crawly wasn’t able to hold back another moan. “Angel. How’d you? What’d you _do_?”

“I found the knot,” Aziraphale said, quite pleased with himself. “The muscles down here feel different than the ones higher up on your back. It’s quite amazing, really. I can _feel_ where your pain is coming from.”

Crawly hummed. He’d noticed something similar on the humans and the two times he’d given Aziraphale a massage, but he hadn’t bothered to really explore it. With the humans, he’d been too focused on tempting them without hurting them and with Aziraphale, he’d been too afraid that if he let his hands stray anywhere else, the angel would never speak to him again. “How’d you figure that out?”

“Well, if you must know, I worked with some healers a few years back. They had all these fascinating ideas about how the human body works.” Aziraphale twisted his fingers deliberately, and all the muscles in Crawly’s lower back relaxed. “There. How’s that?”

“Ngk,” he said, in a stunning display of coherence. None of the other massages he’d gotten had ever left him feeling like this. He was certain that no other massage would ever measure up unless he somehow managed to convince Aziraphale to give him another one. He decided right then that he would make that one of his long-term goals. Enjoy his time among humans, gather souls for Hell by annoying said humans, get the angel to give him another massage. It was a solid plan.

Aziraphale laughed softly, but kept moving, his fingers pressing down on the knots he found and twisting in a way that made them loosen. Gradually, he lightened his touch until he was just rubbing Crawly’s back instead of giving him a proper massage. “Is that better?”

“Mmmm.” Crawly sighed and dredged up the energy to properly respond. “Much. ‘S good, angel.” He was so relaxed that he could probably sleep for a century if he knew he’d be left alone. The chances of that were nil, though, so with great reluctance he prepared to get up.

Aziraphale stopped Crawly with a hand on his back. “Don’t. I doubt they’ve stopped looking for you.”

“They won’t stop looking for me for days, angel. They’re all terrified and looking for someone to blame.”

“Lot should be delivering his message soon. We’ll change the city name and all will be well.”

Crawly rolled onto his side and stared incredulously up at Aziraphale. “That’s not how humans work, angel. You know that.”

“I do, but the rest of Heaven doesn’t. It will work because they believe it will.”

“Is that all it takes? What about free will?”

“They can choose how they behave. No one is interfering with that.”

“No, you’re just changing the name of the city and telling them that they have to do better or they’ll be destroyed by fire and brimstone.”

“It’s still a choice.” Aziraphale folded his hands primly in his lap. He twisted his fingers together as he spoke, reciting what he’d been told. “They’ll understand the consequences and they can choose what they want. Lot will explain. And I believe Sandalphon will be there too.”

“How long until he leaves?” Crawly didn’t dare show his face with another angel in town.

“I’m… not sure, honestly.” Aziraphale wrung his hands without lifting them from his lap. “I’m sure you’ll be able to sneak out just before dawn, if you want to leave.”

“Dawn! It’s not even sunset yet!”

“Well, then.” Aziraphale picked up the jug of wine from the floor. “It’s a good thing this didn’t spill, isn’t it?”

* * *

[15] So to speak. Paper wasn’t due to be invented for another 2000 or so years, and Hell was always behind the times when it came to any sort of advances. Filling out forms in triplicate when they were on stone tablets was, well, _Hellish_. [Return to text]

[16] A few centuries earlier, Aziraphale had cut himself on a shard of pottery while drunk and Crawly had absentmindedly healed him. Subsequent experimentation—some of it even done while sober—had determined that they could use all manner of miracles on each other, including healing, but a true angelic blessing still hurt Crawly. They assumed that a demonic curse would hurt Aziraphale, but Crawly categorically refused to test it. [Return to text]


	4. Fall of Jericho

**1406 BC – Outside the city of Jericho**

Aziraphale limped slowly toward his tent, wondering what miracle it would take to ease his aching feet and whether he had the energy to perform it so soon after bringing the walls of Jericho down. If he had just performed the miracle instead of marching around the city seven times beforehand, it wouldn’t have been a problem. Of course, if he hadn’t marched around the city, his feet wouldn’t hurt and he wouldn’t be tempted to miracle them better.[17]

Not that he was tempted. He was an angel. He didn’t get tempted. He also didn’t get sore from physical activity, but his feet seemed to have missed that memo.

He tried not to think about what Gabriel would say about his physical fitness. He was supposed to be a Warrior of God, a “Lean, mean, fighting machine” as Gabriel would say, not someone whose feet got sore walking around the walls of a city seven times. Granted, forty years of wandering the desert had involved a lot more camping than constant walking, and Aziraphale hadn’t stayed with the Lord’s chosen people the whole time, but he should have been fit enough to accomplish his task at Jericho without injury, no matter how superficial.

It was yet another way he no longer fit in with his compatriots up in Heaven.

He was so caught up in those thoughts he didn’t realize he wasn’t alone until he felt someone lean in close to his left shoulder.

“I didn’t think angels were allowed to limp. Doesn’t that take away too much of the mystique?”

Aziraphale drew himself up, ignoring the ache in his feet as he turned to the demon standing at his left side. “I don’t suppose we are, but there’s no one here to see. They’re all watching the city.” This part of the camp was blessedly empty, which was why Aziraphale had given in to the desire to limp in the first place. “What are you doing here?”

“I came out with Rahab when you lot brought out her and her family.” Crawly shrugged her—for the demon was woman-shaped currently—shoulders. It was easy to see how she had fit in with the courtesan who had sheltered the Israelite scouts who had approached the city before the main force. “I was in the city for a few temptations. Didn’t realize you lot would be showing up. Why are you limping, anyway?”

“I marched with the Israelites around the city.” Aziraphale fretted, shifting from foot to foot as he tried to get some relief from the pain. “I know, I should have done something about it, but I had to bring down the walls, and that’s a big miracle and, well, I know Gabriel and Michael are watching this one closely. The assignment almost wasn’t given to me. They think I’m getting soft!”

Crawly pulled her veil lower so that anyone watching from Above wouldn’t know she was a demon. “So you decided to prove them wrong by injuring yourself on a walk?”

“It was a _march_ , not a walk,” Aziraphale said in a tone that was supposed to be emphatic but came out more like a whine. “They circled the city _seven_ times today!”

“And you are far too used to your comforts and aren’t used to walking, is that it?”

“And I suppose you are?”

“Oh, I’ve been getting around the city. I may not have circled it seven times today, but I’ve been crossing it often enough.” Crawly looked around and found no one nearby. Even the people who would usually be at the camp were gathered at the edge, peering over the fallen city walls. “Are Michael and Gabriel still watching?”

“I… don’t think so?” Aziraphale twisted his hands together. “If they are, they’re probably watching… that.” He gestured toward rubble.

“All right, then.” Crawly slid her arm around Aziraphale’s waist and took a surprising amount of his weight. “Come on.”

Aziraphale stiffened. They couldn’t—they _shouldn’t_ —be this close. It was one thing to talk if they could plausibly be just passing each other by, but touching? Like this? There was no mistaking this for two people who happened to be walking in the same area.

“Relax.” Crawly shifted her grip on Aziraphale and started walking in the direction he’d been going. “All anyone will see is a woman seducing someone. They won’t even be surprised. I did come out with Rahab, after all.”

“That’s hardly better for my reputation, Crawly!”

“No one is watching. Relax. We’d be in your tent by now if you’d just move.”

“All right. Fine. It’s that one.” Aziraphale gestured to a tent set a little back from the others. It was cleaner than the rest and a little larger as well, though none of the humans would notice that.

Crawly smiled lopsidedly at the angel. “Obviously. I would’ve picked that tent as yours even if I hadn’t known you were here.”

“You would?” Aziraphale turned toward Crawly and winced as it made the demon’s grip slip slightly. She really was making it less painful for Aziraphale to walk. “Why?”

“It’s pristine. None of the other tents are that color cream. They may have started that way, but only an angel could keep a tent that nice in a desert.” Crawly adjusted her grip on Aziraphale and turned between two tents, heading toward Aziraphale’s. “And it’s got that nice blue border. Matches your eyes. And your robe.” She pointed at the pale blue embroidery at the collar of Aziraphale’s robe.

“I suppose it is obvious when you put it that way.”

“Don’t feel bad. You’d be able to pick my tent out if the situation were reversed.”

“It truly isn’t a challenge to pick out the only all-black tent, Crawly.” Aziraphale lifted the flap of his tent and they ducked inside, letting the flap fall closed behind them. Aziraphale snapped and the lanterns began to glow with a light far too pure to be from fire.

Crawly helped Aziraphale over to the bed and sank down onto the plush pile of furs and rugs that carpeted the floor. “I see my comment about liking your comforts was spot-on.”

“That’s hardly the—” Aziraphale jerked his foot back as Crawly started unlacing his shoe. “What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

“You can’t! If Michael and Gabriel are watching the city, a demonic miracle this close will get their attention!”

Undaunted, Crawly went back to unlacing the shoe. “I know. I’m not planning to use a miracle.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale watched curiously as Crawly removed his right shoe and started on the left. “Another, ah, what did you call them. Massage?” It had done wonders for his back and neck and had helped Crawly too, but… “I don’t see how it would help my feet.”

“Watch and learn, angel.” Crawly’s grin was decidedly mischievous as she settled back and pulled Aziraphale’s foot into her lap. “I’ve picked up a few things recently.”

Aziraphale pulled his foot back again. “You can’t kneel at my feet, Crawly. That’s…” _Obscene_ was the first word that came to mind, but he knew how Crawly would respond to that. She’d make it a joke, say something about worshiping idols or about how the floor was the only acceptable place for a demon, depending if she wanted to rile Aziraphale up or put herself down. Aziraphale wouldn’t let her. He couldn’t say _blasphemous_ , either, though it felt that way, as she’d make a comment about how she was _supposed_ to blaspheme. He needed to say something else to get her off the floor, something like… “ridiculous. There’s plenty of room up here, and then we can both be comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable down here. No need to put yourself out on my account.”

“Well I’m not. I’d prefer to sit comfortably if you’re going to do this.” Aziraphale started arranging pillows on his bed so he could lean against them, much as he did while reading most nights. “Now get up here. _Please_.”

Crawly laughed as she slipped out of her sandals and slid onto the bed. “Inviting me into your bed? That’s a bit naughty for you, isn’t it?

“Not like that,” Aziraphale chided as he settled in with his head propped up on pillows and his legs extended toward the opposite corner. There was plenty of room—and extra pillows—at the end of the bed for Crawly to sit comfortably and have Aziraphale’s feet in her lap. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been in my bed, dear girl.”

“First time shaped like this,” Crawly gestured to encompass her whole body before pulling Aziraphale’s right foot into her lap. “This way is a bit more scandalous.”

“Your shape doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference!”

“Not to us maybe.” Crawly raised one eyebrow and regarded Aziraphale with amusement. “The humans think it matters. They think it matters to your boss, too. _Thou shalt not_ and all that.” She pressed one thumb into the ball of Aziraphale's foot, gently kneading at the tender flesh there. “Of course, they’d find a way to make it scandalous if I were shaped like a man, too.[18] They’re convinced the Almighty doesn’t like fun. Can’t imagine why.”

Aziraphale scowled as he tried to think of an answer to that. The Almighty was… well, She was simply trying to encourage humans to be their best. To stay healthy and to honor the commitments they made to each other. Many of the laws had a purpose the humans couldn’t understand yet, but they would someday. At least, that was how Aziraphale understood it. He did have to admit— _privately_ —that the humans had taken some of Her rules to the extreme. It was hardly fair to hold God accountable for that, though, was it?

He knew what Crawly’s response would be if he dared say that out loud. Too many things She had done weren’t fair or kind or any of the things Aziraphale was trying very hard to believe She still was. He wouldn’t let Crawly persuade him otherwise, no matter how rational her arguments were or how divine her hands felt as she massaged his soreness away.

He had a point and he really was going to make it, but Crawly pressed her knuckles into the arch of his foot and slid them up and down it and the sound that came out of Aziraphale's mouth was not coherent language, but rather a deep moan that would have only added to the rumors should any humans have been around.

Crawly laughed, delighted that she could provoke such a response from Aziraphale, and repeated the motion a few more times before going back to kneading at the ball of Aziraphale's feet with her thumbs. “Keep making noises like that and there _will_ be a scandal. It’ll only help my reputation, but yours…” She trailed off, letting the mock-pained expression on her face say what she didn’t.

Aziraphale groaned, the sound softer but no less pornographic. “Foul fiend.”

“Naturally.” Crawly rolled Aziraphale's toes between her forefinger and her thumb one by one, tugging gently at the end of each. She didn’t look—or feel—at all guilty. “I _am_ a demon, after all.” She moved her hands back down his foot, carefully pressing on the top with her fingers and pushing her thumbs into the fleshy bottom. When she reached the heel, she pressed into it with both thumbs and moved them in a slow circle as she urged the tense muscles to relax.

“I should smite you,” Aziraphale said as he relaxed further into his pillows. He didn’t understand how pressing on his sore feet was making them feel better—shouldn’t it make them feel worse since they hurt _because_ he’d been walking on them?—but he couldn’t argue with the results. His right foot felt _amazing._

“You haven’t got the energy. And,” Crawly said as she set Aziraphale's foot down on the bed and crawled up to put her lips right next to his ear, “you wouldn’t dare. It would draw too much of the wrong sort of attention. Besides, I haven’t done your left foot.”

A demon—even the one responsible for Original Sin—should not have been able to make Aziraphale feel the way he did right at that moment. He was an Angel of the Lord, meant to be above temptation and sin, and yet he _wanted_ what Crawly was offering, what Crawly had been offering since Mount Ararat. The massage, yes, but also the camaraderie, the ease with which they could relate to each other as the only immortal beings more-or-less permanently on Earth. He should want to smite Crawly every time he saw her, but the demon was right. He wouldn’t dare, and not just because it might attract the attention of an Archangel or three, or even because it would end this sinfully divine massage early.

He wasn’t sure he could admit that though, not yet, so instead he pushed his left foot against Crawly’s thigh, wordlessly begging for her to pick up where she’d left off. _Please_ he said with his eyes as he locked gazes with her. _I won’t, I’m sorry,_ he said with his hand as he briefly squeezed hers. _More?_ he asked with his foot as he pushed it against her, careful not to bruise or touch her anywhere humans would say he shouldn’t.

 _Of course,_ came Crawly’s answer as she settled back, looking at Aziraphale in fond amusement, and took his left foot in her hands. _Always,_ she said with her thumbs as she pushed them into the ball of his foot. _Whatever you need_.

Aziraphale believed her, though neither of them had said a word. They didn’t need words, not for this, not now. They both understood what they’d been saying—and not saying—for over 1500 years. They couldn’t speak the words, not without potentially alerting their superiors, but Crawly massaged a promise of friendship and support into Aziraphale’s skin, and Aziraphale accepted by relaxing under the demon’s ministrations.

“You are far too good at that, my dear,” he said as Crawly began sliding her knuckles up and down the arch of his foot, stretching out the muscle there and loosening the knots that had formed as he’d marched around the city. “You’ll have to teach me sometime.” _You’ll have to let me make the same promise to you._

“Can’t. It’s a trade secret,” Crawly replied with a wink. “But you’re smart enough to figure it out. You figured out the back massage well enough.”

“I’m hardly _competition_.”

Crawly looked Aziraphale up and down in a way that would have constituted an offer, had they been human. “Shame. You’d be good at it.”

* * *

[17] It was a bit of a Catch-22, though that phrase was still over 3,000 years from entering the lexicon. [Return to text]

[18] Humans had already started blaming the destruction of the Cities of the Plain on carnal relations. It was much easier to blame one’s neighbors for having the sort of sex they thought God disapproved of[19] than to admit that perhaps they too could be a little more hospitable. [Return to text]

[19] As in, any sort not explicitly intended to produce a child for a man and his wife. Or one of his other wives. Or his concubines. Or his slaves. Or his dead brother’s wives. Or well, really, any sex that wasn’t explicitly intended to produce heirs for the man. [Return to text]


	5. Samson & Delilah

**1075 BC – Valley of Sorek**

“Crawly?” Aziraphale walked carefully around the rubble of the collapsed temple. Samson had managed to completely destroy it with his last burst of God-granted strength, killing himself and the nearly 3,000 Philistines who had gathered inside to mock him. There were no survivors, save one, though Aziraphale was starting to worry the demonic energy he felt was residual and not a sign that Crawly had survived after all.

He circled the rubble again, wondering if he dared step into it to search closer to the center. “It’s safe to come out now. It’s just me here.” Everyone outside the temple had fled when they’d seen the destruction. It might not have turned them away from worshiping their god, but it had at least given them pause. Perhaps some of them would see the error of their ways.

Aziraphale was supposed to be ensuring that they did, but he’d felt Crawly’s presence before the temple collapsed and he couldn’t worry about the humans until he knew if Crawly had been discorporated. If the demon needed his help and Aziraphale had been too busy performing minor miracles for frightened humans, he would never forgive himself. It was precisely the opposite of what he had been ordered to do, and yet he couldn’t help but wonder if it was the right thing.

Carefully, he picked his way over a relatively clear path toward the center. “Crawly?” He leaned forward, peering into a hole that looked like it possibly could have held a demon who had to have known what was coming. “I do hope you’re all right in there.”

“Jusssst peachy.”

Aziraphale turned in a circle, looking for the speaker. The words had been more sibilant than usual and not in Crawly’s usual voice, but Aziraphale was sure he had the right demon.

“I ssssso love being sssssquashed by sssstone.”

“Crawly? Where are you?” Aziraphale turned again, but did not see even the tiniest flash of red hair or black robes.

“Sssssslithering towardsssss you.”

The giant black and red snake blended into the shadows much better than Aziraphale would have thought possible. He watched as Crawly slowly slithered out of the rubble, emerging from a hole that looked too small, and resumed the familiar form Aziraphale had last seen her in. She started to walk toward Aziraphale and stumbled halfway there, cursing under her breath.

Aziraphale rushed forward to catch her before she fell. “Crawly! Are you all right?”

“It’s Delilah here, angel.” Crawly took another tentative step and found she could only manage while leaning heavily on Aziraphale. “Have to keep up appearances.”

“There’s no one here to notice.” Aziraphale dismissed Crawly’s concern about nearby Philistines with a wave of his hand and focused on the important part. “You’re the one who tricked Samson into revealing his weakness and sold him to the Philistines?”

“I had to. I didn’t know they were going to do… that.” Crawly shuddered at the memory of the men pulling Samson from her bed and gouging out his eyes. “They worship Dagon here. I was ordered to make sure he was captured. I thought they were just going to… I don’t know. Lock him up or something. I had no idea this was going to happen.”

“Dagon?” Aziraphale tried to place the name. He didn’t know the names of many demons, naturally, and he doubted Crawly could—or would—tell him who this Dagon had been before the Fall.

“Master of Torments. Lord of the Files.” Crawly leaned on Aziraphale as they picked their way out of the rubble. She gestured toward the western outskirts of town. “That way. Dagon wanted a victory for her worshipers. I was ordered to provide it. Samson was the one causing the most trouble for them. I had to take him out of the picture.”

“Some victory. They’re all dead.” A chill ran through Aziraphale, momentarily freezing him in place. “Are you going to be in trouble for that?”

“Don’t know.” Crawly guided Aziraphale through the mostly deserted streets towards his house. “I did what I was told, but that doesn’t mean they won’t blame me.”

“They had to know that it was destined to fail. The Almighty chose Samson. Heaven knew something like this was going to happen—I was sent here to convert the survivors. Unless Dagon wanted her followers to die, there was no possible way this could have succeeded.”

“They won’t care. Excuses don’t fly in Hell, angel.” Crawly opened the door to her house and let Aziraphale guide her over to the bed. The hair had long been cleaned up from the floor, the bloodstains long vanished, but Crawly could still see them in her mind’s eye, as fresh as if Samson had been dragged away only moments ago. She threw her arm over her eyes, not that it did any good, and winced at the motion. “We should have gone to your rooms.”

“Nonsense.” Aziraphale held his hand over Crawly’s swollen knee, healing the damage there before moving on to his ankle. “This was closer. And less conspicuous. There would be people in the inn and they might know you—and wonder how you survived.”

“I suppose.” Crawly shifted away from Aziraphale. “Hell knows to look for me here, though. And you’re going to attract attention if you don’t stop.”

“Hell won’t notice.” A quick miracle assured that, though it would only hold for a few hours. There was only so much one angel could do against the forces of Hell. “Let me heal you before they come looking. Where else are you injured?”

“And Heaven?”

“They won’t notice either. They sent me here to do miracles.”

“Not miracles on a _demon_.”

“Gabriel has better things to do than figure out who I’m using my miracles on. As long as I convert a few souls, no one Upstairs will care.” Aziraphale reached for the cut on Crawly’s forehead and frowned when she moved away. “We can argue about this until Hell realizes I’ve blocked their perception of this area or you can let me heal you and you can get out of town before they come looking.”

“They’ll find me, regardless. It’s Hell, angel, they have the same powers as Heaven. I can’t hide from them if they really want to find me.”

They could argue that point of philosophy later. “All the more reason to _let me heal you_. Now, where else are you hurt?”

Crawly sighed and let Aziraphale heal the cut on her forehead. “My hip. And my shoulders.”

Aziraphale healed the hip and moved his hand up to Crawly’s shoulder. “I’m surprised you weren’t injured more, with a building collapsing on you. I would have thought you would be discorporated.”

“I only stayed in this shape long enough to give a few people the chance to escape. It’s easier to fit into small places as a snake.”

Aziraphale hummed in agreement as he moved to heal Crawly’s shoulders. He put his hands there, focused his miracle… and found nothing to heal. He could tell Crawly was in pain, but there was no actual damage causing it. “I don’t believe I can heal your shoulders. They aren’t injured.”

“Oh, well, perhaps you could point that out to them? They seem rather convinced that they are. Dunno why. Perhaps because I was holding up a collapsing building?”

Aziraphale tutted. “There’s no need for that, my dear. I can’t heal injuries that aren’t there, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help.” He shifted around so he was sitting on Crawly’s right side, facing the demon. “Now, let’s see. Just relax.” He put one hand on Crawly’s shoulder and took her arm in the other.

Crawly watched with amusement she didn’t even try to conceal. “Do I want to know what you’re doing?”

“You aren’t the only being who can learn massage tricks from the humans,” Aziraphale said primly as he carefully moved Crawly’s arm, using the hand on her shoulder to feel for knots in the muscle. “I’ve picked up a few things myself.”

Crawly looked up at Aziraphale with an amused grin. “Really? _You’ve_ picked up massage tricks from humans? Go on then?” She deliberately relaxed her arm, letting Aziraphale take all the weight.

He didn’t even blink, just moved her arm a bit more and then pressed manicured fingers into her chest just above the swell of her breasts. It should have been awkward or simply ineffective—her upper arms and upper back hurt, not her chest—but then Aziraphale shifted his fingers just slightly and something released in Crawly's muscles. She wasn’t sure exactly what Aziraphale had done, but her back felt better immediately. “Oh. That feels… good.”

“I told you I had picked up some things. I don't know why you wouldn't believe me. I _am_ an angel, after all.” Aziraphale blinked innocently at Crawly, though the effect was rather ruined by the smirk he couldn't quite keep off his lips.

“I believed _you_ ,” Crawly protested weakly. It was hard to come up with a strong protest with Aziraphale rolling his knuckles over her upper chest muscles, easing away aches Crawly hadn’t even been aware of until that moment. “I didn’t believe the humans had learned that much, is all.”

“Hmmm.” Aziraphale hummed noncommittally as he moved his fingers to Crawly’s upper arm, rubbing them up and down a few times before replacing them with his thumb knuckle.

Crawly practically jumped off the bed as she pulled away. “Ouch! That hurt!” She rubbed her hand over the spot Aziraphale had dug his knuckle in, trying to soothe the ache away. When Aziraphale only arched one eyebrow, she hissed and backed away as much as she could while staying on the bed. “I thought you were _helping_!”

“I am.” Aziraphale took Crawly’s arm and moved it back and forth. Crawly waited for the pain to spike but—

“Oh. That is better.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed as he patted the bed next to him. “Now, would you like to lie back down so I can finish, my dear?”

Crawly couldn’t meet Aziraphale's eyes as she lay back down and let Aziraphale resume his ministrations. The knuckles he ran along Crawly’s upper arm hurt, but he gentled his touch from the first time and gradually, Crawly could feel the arm muscles relax.

After a while, Aziraphale set Crawly’s arm on the bed next to her and walked around to the other side, where he repeated everything. By the time he was done, Crawly was feeling more relaxed than she had since… well, to be perfectly honest, since that time in Zoar when Aziraphale had massaged away the pain in her lower back.

But Aziraphale wasn’t done. He shifted so he was sitting by Crawly’s head rather than her side, and slid his hands under her, pressing his fingers into the muscles of his upper back. He slid his hands up from Crawly’s shoulder blades several times, loosening the muscles there, and then moved his hands to her shoulders and neck, gently pushing and stretching until Crawly was certain she wouldn’t be able to move if her life depended on it.

“Better?” Aziraphale asked as he slowly pulled his hands from under Crawly’s neck.

“Mmm.” Crawly blinked, forced herself to focus, and tried again. “Yessssssss. Much.”

“Good.” Aziraphale patted Crawly on the shoulder as he slid off the bed. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Crawly forced her eyes open, though she decided it was too much effort to lift her head so she could see where Aziraphale had gone. From the sounds he was making, she thought it was the table where a jug of water sat alongside a few cups and bowls and she was pleased to learn she was right when he returned and urged her to sit up and take a drink.

She delayed long enough that Aziraphale helped her and she leaned against him as she scowled into the cup. “I’d rather have wine.”

Aziraphale sighed and the water in the cup darkened. Crawly took a sip, found it to be quite palatable, and made a grateful noise as she drank more. When she had finished about half the cup, she set it in her lap, holding it loosely with one hand and running her finger around the edge. “’S good. Thanks.”

“You’re supposed to drink water,” Aziraphale said. He meant to be disapproving, but it mostly came out fond. It was hard to be mad at Crawly when she was leaning loose limbed against him, radiating contentedness. “It’s better for you.”

“Better for _humans_ , you mean.” Crawly took another sip of the wine and returned the cup to her lap as she turned just enough to be able to see Aziraphale's face. “We’re not human, angel. Remember?”

“Of course I remember!” Aziraphale said, scandalized. He pressed one hand to his chest as he gaped at Crawly, trying to figure out if the demon was joking or not. “It’s just that, well, we obviously injure ourselves like humans sometimes. And these bodies get drunk.”

“We can miracle all that away. They can’t.”

“We can’t miracle away the pain from sore muscles, though.” Az looked primly at Crawly. “I’m only saying that perhaps—since this isn’t something we can fix with miracles—it might be better to think about what we would do if we were human.”

“If we were human, we’d be long-dead. And if we were contemporary humans,” Crawly hastened to add before Aziraphale could protest, “I would _still_ be dead, just like everyone else who was in that temple.” She snapped her fingers and another cup appeared on the bed, this one filled with water. Crawly grabbed it before it could fall over and lifted it to her lips. “Happy?”

Aziraphale wanted to twist his hands together, but Crawly was leaning on one of his arms, so he settled for fidgeting with his robe while he tried to figure out what to say in response to that. “There’s a lot—” No, not that. “Well, considering the circumstances—” No, not that either. “I am glad you are taking care of yourself, my dear.” He was. He just wasn’t happy about what had happened to all the Philistines.

Crawly made an amused noise as she swallowed the last sip of water. “Glad I’m taking care of myself? Careful, angel. It’s starting to sound like you care.”

Aziraphale simply raised one eyebrow in a way that encompassed the entire situation—Crawly leaning against him on her bed after he’d massaged her shoulders—and didn’t dignify that with a response. 


	6. Daniel in the Lion's Den

**519 BC – Babylon**

Aziraphale winced as he watched the stone slab roll into place in front of the lions’ den. It blocked the cries of the men, women, and children who had been thrown inside, but that was cold comfort to Aziraphale. If he had dared disobey orders, if he had let Daniel die, none of these people would be in there.

“It’s not your fault.”

Aziraphale turned to his left with a sigh. Crawly meant well, he was sure, but—

“I mean it, Aziraphale,” Crawly added before Aziraphale could voice his protest. He’d known it was coming and didn’t particularly feel like dealing with the angel’s dithering. “You were following orders.”

“I know. I simply…” Aziraphale twisted his hands together, wincing at the ache in his fingers. “I feel as though I should have done _something_. If nothing else, I should have told you this was going to happen and—”

Crawly cut him off again. “I knew. I couldn’t do anything either. I had orders too—get the administrators and seraphs to discredit Daniel and then not to interfere.” Crawly glanced over the heads of the crowd to the den. “This must be important if we were both told not to interfere.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Aziraphale sent a quick miracle toward the lions’ den anyway, ensuring that the innocent people wouldn’t suffer much. It was all he dared do. Even that was risking a reprimand, considering who his orders had come from.[20]

Crawly noticed and sent a demonic miracle after it, granting everyone in the cave a painless death. The lions would still eat them, after all, and he saw no reason to prolong their torment here. The wives and children who had been thrown in with their husbands and fathers were innocent, and the men who had set out to discredit Daniel were headed Below anyway. They’d suffer enough down there.

“Come on,” he said as he felt his miracle take hold, “let’s get out of here. I could use a drink or two.”

A drink sounded lovely, but Aziraphale could already hear the murmurs in the crowd. He had no doubt that, by the time they reached a drinking establishment, the whole city would be talking about what had just happened. He didn’t want to hear it. “I have some wine at my place. We could drink that?”

Crawly looked around at the crowd and nodded. “We could pick up something to eat on the way.” There were plenty of carts with people selling various foods along the road leading to the lions’ den. Humans had a way of turning everything into a festival, even—or perhaps, especially—executions.

“Oh, could we?” Aziraphale clasped his hands together in delight, then winced.

Crawly, naturally, noticed immediately and reached out toward Aziraphale's hand, though he stopped short of touching it. “What happened?”

Aziraphale glanced back at the lions’ den as he started to walk toward the city. “I had to keep Daniel alive.”

“And you were told _how_ to do that, I presume?”

“As it turns out, it’s a bit of a strain on the hands to hold a lion’s jaw shut.” Aziraphale made a point of looking at what the various carts were offering instead of looking at Crawly. “Even more so when you have to hold the jaws of several lions shut.” He said it casually, as though it hadn’t been _that_ big of a deal.

Crawly picked up on the implication anyway. “How many of the lions’ mouths did you have to hold shut?”

“All of them,” Aziraphale said so quietly he almost couldn’t hear himself, then headed straight toward the closest cart. “Oh, look,” he said much louder, “they have dates!”

“As do half the carts we’ve seen. Don’t change the subject, angel.”

“I can’t very well talk about it _now_.” Humans were still aware that angels and demons walked among them at times, but they did not expect to see them buying fruit from a roadside cart or to overhear them complaining about being in pain. It simply wouldn’t fit in with the image either he or Crawly needed to project.

“Fine.” Crawly pulled some coins from the purse tied at his waist and bought some dates as well as bread and honey. “Will this do?”

Aziraphale looked it over. “Splendidly! I’m not far.” He led Crawly into the city to a modest dwelling not too far from where Daniel had lived and invited him inside. The inside was far nicer and a little bigger than it should have been, but it wasn’t as though he was in the habit of inviting humans into his abode. He bustled over to get the wine, but before he could pour any, Crawly took the wine jug.

He set it aside and took Aziraphale's hands in his. “Let me see.”

“There’s nothing to see,” Aziraphale protested as Crawly turned his hands over and peered closely at them. “I wasn’t even in this form when I held the lions’ mouths shut. It just… translated to my hands, I suppose. They aren’t injured.”

“Just sore?” Crawly asked knowingly. “I can help.” He squeezed gently at the base of Aziraphale's right thumb.

It was exactly the sort of thing Aziraphale had been longing for all day, but hadn’t been able to effectively do himself. “Oh!” He staggered a little, overwhelmed by the sensation as Crawly’s fingers kept moving over his hand, getting tight muscles to relax.

Crawly chuckled and put a hand under Aziraphale's elbow, steadying him. “Perhaps we ought to sit down.”

“There’s only one chair.” It was a ridiculous thing to say, given that either of them could miracle up another one with nothing more than a glare,[21] but Aziraphale's brain had stopped functioning properly when Crawly started massaging his hands.

Crawly rolled his eyes fondly and snapped his fingers. The room’s sole chair, which had been piled with furs and blankets to create a cozy reading area, stretched out and widened into something Aziraphale could relax on with plenty of room for Crawly to sit beside him. Crawly gave it a flat look when it finished changing and the blankets and furs sheepishly rearranged themselves, making the whole thing look even more inviting. “Come on angel,” he said, stepping toward it without letting go of Aziraphale's hand.

Aziraphale let himself be pulled along and settled into the lounge that used to be his chair. It was surprisingly comfortable, much more comfortable than the bed which, on further reflection, should have been his suggestion. “Oh, this is nice,” he said with a little wiggle. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Crawly grumbled as he sat down next to Aziraphale. “I did it to make myself comfortable.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed knowingly. He was well aware that wasn’t true, at least not entirely, but he would let Crawly have the fiction if it meant he kept doing _that_ to Aziraphale's hands. It was strange to think that someone pulling on his fingers one at a time could feel so good, but Aziraphale didn’t want Crawly to ever stop.

Crawly settled in next to Aziraphale, one leg tucked under the other, then bent Aziraphale's hand back and pressed his thumbs into the angel’s palm, starting near the wrist and sliding them up to the base of his fingers again and again. As he hit a particularly sensitive spot, Aziraphale made a noise that wouldn’t have been out of place in a brothel, then immediately clapped his free hand over his mouth.

Crawly laughed in that undignified way usually reserved for when he’d had a few too many cups of wine. “Careful, angel,” he said between bursts of laughter, “someone might get the wrong idea, and you can’t even make the excuse that you’re drunk!” That reminded him that they’d left the wine on the table, so as soon as he’d calmed down enough not to make a huge mess of things, he pulled on his power and snapped. The wine jug and two cups suddenly found themselves relocated next to the lounge on a low table that hadn’t existed thirty seconds earlier.[22] Crawly paused his ministrations long enough to pour them both a cup and take a sip.

Aziraphale watched Crawly laugh, his smile growing at the demon’s delight. It was a good look on him, one Aziraphale wanted to encourage. An idea occurred to him as he took his cup and he moaned into it as Crawly started massaging his left hand again. The cup did absolutely nothing to muffle the noise. In fact, it amplified it.

The cup also did nothing to hide Aziraphale's mischievous grin.

Crawly narrowed his eyes and glared at Aziraphale. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

Aziraphale set his cup down and blinked innocently at Crawly. “I have no idea what you mean.” It wasn’t nearly as effective as he’d hoped, which was saying something, because he hadn’t expected it to be effective at all.

Crawly just raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to stop?” He moved to Aziraphale's forearm, using his knuckles to deeply massage the muscles there.

Aziraphale’s “no” came out sounding more like a squeak than an answer and he closed his eyes against the pain that followed Crawly’s fingers. He knew this was possible—he’d seen it with humans and with Crawly after the incident with Samson—but the knowledge hadn’t prepared him for the sensation.

Crawly paused when he felt Aziraphale tense. “Relax,” he said, watching the angel carefully. “Breathe.”

“We don’t need to breathe,” Aziraphale protested, but he did have to suck in air to talk, and the action forced him to relax a little.

“Humor me,” Crawly said dryly. “Focus on breathing and it won’t hurt as much.”

It sounded unlikely at best, but Aziraphale trusted Crawly, so he dubiously gave it a try. As he focused on pulling air into his lungs and expelling it, his muscles relaxed further, and the sharp pain that had accompanied Crawly’s knuckles as they slid over his forearm dulled. “Oh! That does help!”

Crawly made a soft sound of agreement, but otherwise ignored Aziraphale's revelation. Instead, he kept working, moving between Aziraphale's forearm, hand, and fingers until he had Aziraphale's left hand completely relaxed in his grip. He set it down gently in Aziraphale's lap, drank a bit of his wine, and took Aziraphale's cup from him to set it aside as well before moving to the other side of the lounge and starting on Aziraphale's right hand.

Aziraphale just watched through heavily lidded eyes, breathing in and out, in and out, in and out, in a carefully controlled rhythm. He let Crawly manipulate his hand as needed, focusing on his breathing and on what Crawly was doing, hoping he could possibly learn something he hadn’t yet picked up from the humans. “Are you staying in Babylon long?”

“Dunno.” Crawly shrugged as he stretched out Aziraphale's hand. “My work here is done, but I don’t have another assignment yet. You?”

“The same, though I have heard through the grapevine that there may be more to do here. Apparently, the Almighty is quite fond of Daniel.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale leaned in with a conspiratorial look. “I do hope that I get to stay. There’s the loveliest library here that I’ve only just begun to explore!”

“Library?”

“They’ve collected scrolls and tablets and other bits of writing in one place so people can see it!” Aziraphale wiggled happily just thinking about the last time he’d set foot in the building. “It’s quite remarkable, even though most of the things they’ve collected are tax records and dry recounts of battles. I’ve convinced them to keep a few other things there, and with enough time I think it will become simply marvelous!”

Crawly laughed as he moved his hands to Aziraphale's forearm. “Of course that’s why you want to stay. You do love your stories.”

“I would think that you would like it too, given who you are.”

Crawly froze, not looking at Aziraphale. “What is that supposed to mean?” Aziraphale occasionally referred to the fact that he was a demon, but he didn’t know what that had to do with this library.

“You tempted Eve with knowledge, my dear,” Aziraphale said in a surprisingly soft voice. “This is a collection of knowledge. I thought you would like that.”

“Oh.” Crawly relaxed and started massaging Aziraphale's forearm again. “That.”

“What did you think I meant?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Crawly shrugged. He didn’t want to get into it. They both knew he was a demon. Someday it might stop mattering to Aziraphale. “Tell me about this place.”

“I should show you.” Aziraphale beamed at the thought and his expression was so excited that Crawly couldn’t resist.

“All right. In a few days if we’re both still here. Don’t want to attract too much attention.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed. “Next week, then?” It was a bit thrilling, arranging to meet when they’d simply run into each other before.

“Next week.” Crawly moved back to Aziraphale's hand, pinching the muscle between his thumb and index finger and squeezing until the muscle released. When it did, he stretched Aziraphale's hand one more time and then set it down as well. “Better?”

Aziraphale lifted his hands and flexed his fingers. “Much.” He beamed, quite literally, at Crawly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t. I don’t want Hell to get word that I’ve helped an angel.” He scowled as he looked down. “And turn that off. You’re hurting my eyes.”

“Sorry.” Aziraphale dampened the light he was emitting, but didn’t stop flexing his fingers and gazing in awe between them and Crawly. “This is marvelous, though. You must at least stay and finish the wine. You can tell me about how you tempted those administrators.”

Crawly laughed and leaned across Aziraphale to retrieve his wine. “Very well. I thought I could influence them if they thought I would… you know.” He shifted uncomfortably.

Aziraphale immediately got the idea. “I had wondered about that. I assume they weren’t willing to listen while you were woman-shaped?”

“Not with what I was willing to do.” Crawly shuddered at the memory of the things some of the men had asked him to do. He didn’t even know if some of them were _possible_. Even if they were, they were certainly farther than he was willing to go without a direct order from Hell.[23] “I switched back to man-shaped, told them I was new to the city, threw around some coin so they knew I was worth listening to, and not one of them recognized me.” He shook his head at how ridiculous—wonderful and imaginative, yes, but utterly _ridiculous_ —humans were. “Once they were willing to listen, I…”

* * *

[20] The Metatron had passed these orders on directly, appearing in front of Aziraphale with a show that had made him long for an assignment from Gabriel. The archangel was a terrible listener who always talked over Aziraphale and never understood exactly what an assignment would entail, but at least he didn’t project a giant head in a direct sunbeam and boom so loudly that Aziraphale had to repair his corporation’s hearing after the encounter. [Return to text]

[21] It was also only technically true. There was only one chair, but there were plenty of other places to sit, such as the benches next to the table and a comfortable pile of pillows, furs, and blankets on a rug near the fire. [Return to text]

[22] There was already a small table near the lounge, next to where the chair had been, but it was piled so high with tablets and scrolls that the jug and cups had refused to relocate there. Crawly hadn’t argued. He didn’t want to be responsible for ruining Aziraphale's collection. [Return to text]

[23] And probably not even then, if he was being honest, which he made a point to never do. [Return to text]


	7. The Birth of Christ

**1 BC – Bethlehem**

Aziraphale felt the familiar presence just after he’d rented all the rooms in the inn. He’d been sent to Bethlehem ahead of Mary and Joseph to ensure that the Christ child was born in comfort. It was an important duty, one he was honored to be given, even though it had defaulted to him because Heaven had decided that an angel who was familiar with humans should do the job because of how badly Gabriel had bungled the Annunciation.[24]

It was still an honor.

If he messed it up, or worse if he let _Crawly_ mess it up, he would never be given an important task by Heaven again. They would send Gabriel and Sandalphon to take care of things instead of letting him do them, and he’d be watched even more closely, and it would be much harder to enjoy the things he’d come to like about Earth.

Which included Crawly, much to his dismay. Gabriel certainly wouldn’t understand his affection for a demon. Aziraphale didn’t really even understand it himself.

No, he couldn’t risk Crawly being here when Mary and Joseph arrived. The child was due to be born tonight. The other angels would be here as soon as it happened, to welcome him into the world and to start spreading the news. They would surely sense Crawly just as he did, and he dreaded to think what would happen if Gabriel or Sandalphon saw Crawly today. They were _smite first, ask questions never_ sort of angels, and Aziraphale knew that today they would smite hard.

He found Crawly in the tavern and hurried over to join him. “What are you doing here?”

Crawly looked up from his cup of barely palatable house brown and raised one eyebrow. “Hello, Aziraphale. Fancy running into you here. How have you been? Up to anything exciting lately?”

“Sorry.” Aziraphale flushed. There really was no call to be rude, especially not if he wanted Crawly to do as he asked and leave town quickly. “Hello, Crawly. What brings you to Bethlehem?”

“Checking out some rumors.” Crawly poured some of the wine into another cup and handed it to Aziraphale. “Hell has heard that something big is happening here, but they’re not sure what. I’m supposed to find out and report back.” He swiveled on his stool and looked directly at Aziraphale. “You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”

“I, uh, well.” Aziraphale drank half the cup in one swallow, hoping it would calm him. It didn’t. “I don’t think I should tell you. I could get in trouble!”

“Aw, come on. If it’s happening soon, I’m not going to be able to stop it. What could it hurt for me to know?”

“Quite a bit!” Aziraphale downed the rest of his cup and poured another without asking. “Gabriel will be here. Probably Michael and Uriel and Sandalphon, too. You don’t want to be around when they get here.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Not with them, you can’t! Not all of them.” Aziraphale drank half his wine again then set the cup down to stop himself from downing the rest. “This is big, Crawly. You can’t stop it. All the powers of Hell can’t stop it. But you can get out of here.”

“Come on, Aziraphale. We’re friends, aren’t we?” Crawly pushed on without giving Aziraphale a chance to protest. He didn’t know why the angel had such animosity toward him today, but he wasn’t leaving until he found out… and had completed his assignment. “Please? I can’t just leave, not without the information I was sent to get. I’ll leave if you tell me.”

“But if they find out I told you, they’ll reprimand me!”

“Oh, so you getting a reprimand is a problem, but it’s not if I get one?” Crawly snatched the wine away from Aziraphale and refilled his cup. He set it down where Aziraphale would have to move or use a miracle to reach it. “I guarantee Hell’s reprimands are worse than Heaven’s.[27] If you want to stop me from doing my job you’ll have to do more than ask.”

“But you can’t be here, Crawly! Not when Gabriel arrives!” Aziraphale twisted his hands together as he fretted. He knew Crawly was right, but if Gabriel—or worse, Sandalphon—showed up, Crawly wouldn’t have to worry about whatever punishment Hell had in store for him.

“Then tell me and I’ll leave.” Crawly looked at Aziraphale expectantly, as though that was all it would take to convince him to give out the information.

He wasn’t wrong. Aziraphale wrenched his hands apart and balled them into fists at his sides as he fought back the urge to just tell Crawly to leave again. “Fine! The Christ-child will be born tonight. Here. And the other angels are coming to celebrate it, so you have to leave. Now!”

“The Christ child? Already? I thought we were still years away from that.”

Aziraphale nodded, unable to make himself say anything more. He was already in trouble for that much. He couldn’t share anything else, no matter what Crawly said to persuade him.

“No wonder there were rumors flying downstairs.” Crawly passed the rest of the jug of wine to Aziraphale. “I won’t say thank you, but here. You can have the rest.”

Aziraphale took the jug hesitantly, thrown off by Crawly’s complete turn-around. “We could share it, perhaps?” And then he could walk Crawly out of Bethlehem and well before Gabriel arrived.

“Can’t. Gotta go. This is big news. Downstairs is going to want to know right away.” He slid off his stool and grinned at Aziraphale. “I might even get a commendation for figuring this out.”

“You didn’t figure it out, I told you!” Aziraphale snapped, desperately trying to figure out how to keep Crawly around long enough that Hell wouldn’t know before they were supposed to but to have him leave before the other angels arrived. “And you can’t leave yet!”

Crawly stopped. “Why not? I thought you wanted me out of here.”

“I do! No, I don’t, I—” Aziraphale sat down on a stool with a heavy sigh. “Oh, this is so complicated. I don’t want you to leave yet. Can’t you… stay and leave right before it happens? That way you can tell Hell beforehand, but not give them enough time to do anything?” Not that there was much they could do to stop it. The child was coming tonight no matter what. Human births were like that, he’d learned over the centuries. They happened when they were ready and not a moment after, no matter what else was going on.[28]

“And risk Hell finding out I sat on the information? No. Sorry, angel. I’ll see you around.” Crawly downed the last of his wine, turned, and left.

Aziraphale watched him go, wondering what sort of trouble Hell was going to cause tonight. He should warn someone, get ready for it, do… something. He could search for Crawly, but the demon was good at hiding when he didn’t want to be found and was probably already down in Hell anyway. It was theoretically possible for Aziraphale to follow him there, but he wasn’t going to test that theory without a direct order, thank you very much.

No, his best bet was to tell Gabriel, so that’s what he’d do.

Just as soon as he finished the wine.[29]

* * *

[24] Appearing in front of a teenage girl and gleefully announcing that she was chosen to carry the son of God without any consideration for where she was[25] or how she might react[26] had apparently not gone over well. Aziraphale had not been surprised, though most of the other angels had. [Return to text]

[25] The privy. [Return to text]

[26] Badly. [Return to text]

[27] Since Heaven had given up on the _million-lightyear freestyle dive into a pool of boiling sulfur_ reprimand, anyway. [Return to text]

[28] It didn’t seem like a very efficient way to do things, but he hadn’t been consulted on the design, so he assumed that the Almighty had Her reasons. [Return to text]

[29] Unfortunately for Aziraphale, he got into a lively debate with another patron of the tavern and by the time he’d finished his third jug of wine, he realized that he’d forgotten to let the innkeeper know to expect the man traveling with his heavily pregnant wife, and they’d been told that there were no rooms left at the inn. It worked out in the end—putting the baby in a manger made a much better story than simply putting him on a bed in the inn—but Aziraphale found himself quite unable to listen to the numerous Christmas Carols that eventually referenced Jesus’s humble beginnings without blushing furiously at the memory of his mistake. [Return to text]


	8. Crucifixion of Jesus

**33 AD – Golgotha**

“So what happens now?” Crowley[30] swirled the wine around in her cup and stared at the liquid as it sloshed around. “In the _Great Plan_?”

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale looked down at his cup too. The wine wasn’t very good, but it was potent, and that was what he wanted at the moment. Heaven had a plan; he was sure of that. They probably even had a Plan that deserved the capital letter, but he hadn’t been consulted or even clued in. He’d been sent to witness Her son’s death, and he had, but he didn’t understand how it was supposed to accomplish anything. “I told you I’m not consulted on policy decisions.”

“Consulted and told are different things, angel.” Crowley took a long drink and then resumed swirling her wine. She moved the cup faster and faster, trying to see how close to the edge of the cup she could get it without splashing anything.

“I wasn’t _told,_ either.” Aziraphale finished his wine and poured more from the jug on the table between them. “I’m only told what I need to know, Crowley, not everything Heaven has planned. Surely you don’t know all of Hell’s plans.”

“Well….” Crowley dragged out the word so it sounded as though it had at least ten e’s. “No. But I expect Hell to operate that way. Demons don’t trust each other. angels should. You’re all angels.” A thought occurred to her and she leaned in closer to peer at Aziraphale. “They didn’t find out you told me about his birth, did they? I waited a few hours to tell Beelzebub. They shouldn’t have known.”

Aziraphale sighed. Honestly, he hadn’t even noticed that no demons had showed up that day. He’d been too busy ignoring everything so he didn’t have to think about the argument they’d just had. “No. Not as far as I know, at least. Gabriel, well, he’s a bit of a stickler for the rules. If he doesn’t have instructions to share information, he won’t.”

“Ah. Well. I hope whatever the plan is, _this_ was worth it.” Crowley made a gesture intended to indicate everything that had just happened.

“I’m sure it will be,” Aziraphale said with confidence he did not feel. “God’s plan is—”

“Don’t say ‘ineffable.’”

“—all encompassing. I’m sure She knew this would happen and meant for it to come about this way.”

“She’s not infallible, angel.”

“You may not think so, but I know She is.”

Crowley snorted into her cup. “I’m sure that will be a comfort to his earthly mother. Mary was inconsolable earlier.”

“Is that why you decided to look female again?”

“Among other reasons.” It had been easier to get close to Jesus as a woman-shaped being, and he hadn’t cared one whit for what form she wore as she showed him all the Kingdoms of the World. He’d been interested in seeing them, naturally, but her attempts at temptation had all failed. The female shape had let her insinuate herself into his mother’s sphere, though it had not opened up any more avenues of temptation, much to her dismay.

“Hmm. It suits you.”

Crowley raised her glass in a toast. “Well, then. To Jesus. May his death accomplish… something, at least.”

Aziraphale toasted as well, though it felt hollow. He hadn’t gotten a chance to know the man. It was other angels who had spoken to him throughout his life. Aziraphale had just been told to monitor the humans’ responses to him, nothing more. And now a demon had better wishes for him than Aziraphale did. “I’m certain it will.”

Crowley drained the rest of her glass. “Are you staying in town for long?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been told I need to be here for at least the next three days; after that, I suppose I’ll wait and see what my orders are. The humans have done so many marvelous things I haven’t had a chance to see. I do hope I get to travel around a bit more. I hear they’re doing marvelous things with seafood these days.”

“Are they?” Crowley poured more wine for both of them. “Have they managed to improve wine anywhere?”

“This is rather bad, isn’t it?” Aziraphale took another drink regardless. “I’ve heard they have further east, but it obviously hasn’t traveled here.”

“Not to this tavern, at least.” Crowley drank her entire cup and refilled it again. “I’ve heard humans say it gets better the more you have, but I haven’t noticed any improvement so far.”

“I think being drunk dulls their senses more than ours.” Aziraphale squinted at his wine as he tried to figure it out. “That might explain it.”

“Could do.” Crowley took another drink and made a face at the taste. “Would be nice if this didn’t taste so blessed bad after a few drinks.”

“At least the-the forgetting bits still work.” Aziraphale poured another cup, then remembered that he could miracle it better and stared hard at the jug of wine for a moment. It changed itself into a much better vintage, as did the wine in their cups when Aziraphale raised one eyebrow at them. “Much better.”

“Mmm,” Crowley agreed, taking a sip and savoring it. “Wait. What forgetting bits?”

“The bits where it makes you forget.”

“Forget what?”

“The things you don’t want to think about? I think.” Aziraphale squinted as he pondered that. The trouble with forgetting something, he thought, was that it was quite difficult to remember what had been forgotten. “Yes. For example, last time we saw each other I drank quite a bit after you stalked off. Didn’t want to think about you stalking off, and it made me forget. For a bit. I remembered later.”

“Stalked off? I didn’t stalk off! You wanted me to leave!”

“Yes. That was the bit I was trying to forget.”

“So you didn’t want me to leave?”

“Didn’t want you there. Couldn’t. Gabriel was going to show up.” Aziraphale cradled his glass close to his chest and stared down into it. “Didn’t want you to go either. You were going to tell Hell. And you were upset. Didn’t want that either. Very complicated.”

“Complicated. Right.”

Aziraphale forced himself to sober up, not all the way, but enough that he could clearly process what Crowley was saying. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want you around, my dear. I simply didn’t want you to run into Gabriel, and that was a distinct possibility.”

“And you didn’t want me to interfere.”

“Well. No. But that wasn’t the point.”

“What was the point, then? And don’t sober up more.” Crowley poked her finger toward Aziraphale. “I’m not sober, so you shouldn’t be.”

“I rather think we should be if we’re going to discuss this.” And they should discuss it, Aziraphale felt. They’d spent thirty-three years without clearing things up. It was ridiculous to let it go on any longer.

Crowley stared down into her cup and sighed. “Not today, angel.” She couldn’t today. “We can discuss it next time. Or not.” She waved her hand in a gesture of forgetting. “We were both under a lot of pressure that day. No need to dwell on it and make it worse.”

There was a part of Aziraphale that wanted to protest and make Crowley talk this out, but the idea of just… letting it be bygone was tempting. He picked up his glass of wine again and downed it all in one go. As he poured another, he turned to Crowley and said, “Temptress.”

Crowley just raised her cup in a salute.

* * *

[30] The name fit much better, though since she’d been encouraged to change it while tempting the man she just watched die, it was a bit bittersweet at the moment. [Return to text]


	9. Roman Empire

**41 AD – Rome**

Crowley let the last oyster slide down his throat and made a pleased sound as he swallowed it whole. In his opinion, it was about time humans started eating food whole, and the sauces that Petronius had put on the oysters were absolutely delicious. He had eaten his whole portion, something he almost never did, and had barely said a word the whole time. “That was delicious.”

“Quite scrummy,” Aziraphale agreed, dabbing at his lips with his toga. There wasn’t anything there since he, like Crowley, had simply let the oysters slide down his throat, but it was polite nonetheless. “Shall we order more?”

Crowley was tempted—for the second time that day—by the angel’s suggestion, but there was a dull ache building in his head and he didn’t want to stay in the restaurant any longer than he had to. He knew from experience that once his head started pounding, only curling up somewhere dark and letting himself sleep would help. Alcohol and a few other things would take care of it for a while, but it would always be worse after. “No. I should…” he waved his hand about vaguely, “…get on with things.”

“Your temptation? My dear boy, if you needed to do that today, we could have tried the oysters some other time!” Aziraphale wrung his hands together. He was sure he wasn’t going to approve of whatever this temptation was, but he hadn’t meant to keep Crowley from doing his job. “Where is it? I’ll walk with you.”

“Not that.” Crowley pulled his lenses down and closed his eyes. The blasted things kept the humans from noticing his eyes, but they made it harder to focus. The imperfections in the glass distorted things enough that they almost caused more trouble than they saved, but humans weren’t as blasé about seeing someone with snake eyes as they used to be. Precautions had to be taken, and since Crowley could only keep his eyes looking normal with intense concentration, lenses were the easiest solution. “I need to go lie down.”

“Lie down? Whatever for?” Demons didn’t get sick any more than angels did. They were of the same stock, after all.

“My head.” Crowley pushed the lenses back up his nose and peered at Aziraphale through them. “These keep the humans from noticing my eyes, but sometimes they make my head hurt.”

“Oh, well. Why didn’t you just say?” Aziraphale stood. “Where are you staying?”

“I can get myself there, angel.” Crowley pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the table as he gathered his balance. “You don’t need to see me home.”

“I may not need to, but I will, regardless.” Aziraphale took Crowley's arm and guided him from the restaurant. There would be opportunity for more oysters another time. “I believe I may know how to help.”

Crowley raised one eyebrow as he pointed Aziraphale in the direction of the rooms he was using. “Oh? How?”

“Did you know humans use massage on their heads, too? It’s not quite the same, and I know that your headache isn’t from sore muscles, but I believe it will help.” Aziraphale followed Crowley's directions to his rooms, keeping his hand on Crowley's arm to steady him as he wobbled. “And I think I can do something about those lenses, too.”

“They’re the best humans can make.”

“Yes, well, we aren’t human, are we?”

Crowley hummed his assent as he turned down a side street and started up some stairs. His rooms overlooked a nice square on the front side, but the entrance was on a lesser-used street that afforded him the privacy he needed. “You’re welcome to try. I couldn’t quite figure it out.”

“I’ll look at them after. Let me take care of your headache first.” Aziraphale bustled Crowley toward the bed and prodded at him until he was lying flat, his head near Aziraphale's thigh and his lenses off. “Now, tell me if this makes things worse.” He put his hands on either side of Crowley's temples and slowly moved his fingers in circles, pressing lightly. “Is this all right?”

“Yessss,” Crowley hissed, relaxing into it immediately. That wasn’t even where his head hurt, but somehow it started to feel better immediately.

“Good.” Aziraphale slowly moved his hands over Crowley's forehead, working inward with small circles and pressing a little harder as he slid his fingers back toward Crowley's temples. He slowly worked down toward Crowley's eyes as he did that, pausing when he reached Crowley's eyebrows to gently pinch the flesh there between his thumb and forefinger.

Crowley moaned as Aziraphale hit a tender spot. “There,” he said before Aziraphale could react by pulling his hands away. “Right there. That’s the spot it hurts.”

“One of them, anyway,” Aziraphale agreed, carefully working his way back and forth along Crowley's brow line. He could feel the heat and tenderness of the muscles there as he worked, gently pinching and tugging as he watched Crowley's face for the smallest change in expression.

When the muscles there released, Aziraphale moved on to the sides of Crowley's nose, pressing it between his two forefingers and sliding them down along the lines of Crowley's eye sockets. “Better?”

“Hmmm.” Crowley didn’t open his eyes. It hadn’t taken care of all of the pain yet, but it felt so good he just wanted to float in the bliss of letting Aziraphale take care of him, healing his headache in a very human way, though not one Crowley would trust any other being to do. He made another pleased sound as Aziraphale’s fingertips slid into his hair and the angel started rubbing small circles on his scalp. This felt even better than the stuff around his eyes had and if Aziraphale would keep doing it, Crowley would happily lie here for the rest of eternity. “Keep doing that.”

Aziraphale laughed softly as he slid his fingers down the side of Crowley's head and around the back, still moving them in soft circles. His nails lightly scratched Crowley's scalp, then he pressed harder with the pads of his fingers, rubbing away the tension there. As he moved his hands down to Crowley's neck, he softly asked, “Why were you in such a foul mood earlier?”

“When?” Crowley tried to open his eyes, but Aziraphale's fingers pressed into the base of his skull, lifting his head slightly, and all the pressure in his skull vanished like magic. It was far too blissful a feeling to ruin by letting in the light.

“At the tavern.” Aziraphale moved his fingers up about a half inch and held them there, supporting Crowley's head and relieving the pressure with just two fingers. “You clearly weren’t in the mood to talk to anyone.”

“So you thought it was a good idea to say hello?” Crowley arched one eyebrow as he opened his eyes to look at Aziraphale.

“It was nice to see a familiar face.”

“And?”

“And I thought that if you were going to be in a foul mood, better you take it out on me than some unsuspecting human. I know what you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” If he weren’t so relaxed, Crowley would have gotten offended at the implication. As it was, getting offended was far too much effort, especially when it would also likely make Aziraphale stop massaging his head.

“Simply that I know you, my dear. Unlike the humans, I won’t be surprised by the fact that you’re a demon.” Aziraphale smirked as he leaned in close so Crowley could see his expression. He was going to get as much mileage out of this as he could. “Besides, I know what sort of demon you are.”

“What sort of demon am I?” That was almost enough to offend him, but really, what good—er, bad—would it do? He was the one who would suffer if Aziraphale left before he finished this massage and tried to fix his glasses. As a demon, Crowley was theoretically in favor of suffering. On a personal level, he was completely against it.[31]

“The sort that would much rather cause mischief than actually harm anyone, of course,” Aziraphale said softly as he started massaging Crowley’s neck. “You’re much better than you give yourself credit for.”

Crowley groaned. “Don’t say that! If Hell gets word that I’m not causing much trouble up here, they’ll call me back Downstairs.”

“How have they not figured it out already?”

“I tell them I’m responsible for a lot of the things the humans think up. Marvelously inventive, humans. And they’re so good at turning things bad too. Most of the things I’ve received commendations for, I just happened to be in the right area.”

Aziraphale tutted disapprovingly as he moved his hands to the sides of Crowley's neck and started massaging there, dragging his knuckles slowly up and down one side while cradling the other with his hand. “They’ll catch on to that eventually.”

“They haven’t yet.” Crowley closed his eyes as Aziraphale kept working on his neck. “They don’t bother to check on anything. If I’m in approximately the right area at about the right time, they believe me.”

“But… that’s lying!”

“I’m a demon, angel. I’m supposed to lie.”

“Well, yes, but…” Aziraphale paused as he tried to figure out what, exactly, his objection was. It shouldn’t matter to him if Crowley lied to his superiors or not. He wasn’t asking Aziraphale to lie, nor was he hurting anyone. It could be argued that he was, well, not _helping_ , per se, but not making things worse than the humans were on their own, whereas if he’d had to do the sorts of things he took credit for, there would be far more suffering. So then why did the idea bother Aziraphale?

Crowley opened his eyes with a sigh and tried to get Aziraphale's attention without moving any more than that. “Do you want me to cause the sort of suffering Hell is interested in?”

“Oh, heavens no!” Aziraphale pressed one hand to his chest, then realized that he’d stopped massaging Crowley's neck and started again. “I apologize.”

“’s all right.” Crowley waved Aziraphale off with a smile. When the angel was absorbed in the massage again, Crowley said, “It wasn’t anything specific.”

“What?”

“That I was annoyed about earlier. There wasn’t one thing; it was a lot of little things. It’s been a bad… how long has it been since Golgotha?”

“Eight years.” Aziraphale’s brow creased with worry as he pressed his fingers into the base of Crowley's skull again to finish the massage. “You’ve had a bad eight years?”

“More or less.” It hadn’t been terrible, just full of the sort of low-grade annoyances he used on humans, and most of them hadn’t even been his fault. From the men who had gotten too handsy with him while he was still woman-shaped (they had never gotten handsy with anyone again) to Hell summoning him at the wrong time (not that there was a _right_ time to be summoned by Hell) to being blamed for the fact that the others who had been crucified didn’t show up Downstairs like they were supposed to (as if Crowley could have overridden that decision), it hadn’t been the best eight years.

It hadn’t been the worst, either, but Crowley's idea of ‘worst’ had been permanently skewed before years were even a thing, so his judgment was a little suspect there.

“Well, I hope the trend doesn’t continue.” Aziraphale pushed his fingers in harder for a brief second then slid them down Crowley's neck and pulled them away. “Better?”

Crowley moved his head back and forth, testing his reaction. It didn’t hurt, not even when he sat up and reached for his lenses. “Much. Thank you.”

“May I?” Aziraphale asked before Crowley could put the lenses on his face. “They look perfect from here.”

“They’re not.” Crowley held the lenses out.

Aziraphale took them from Crowley and held them up to his face, frowning. He could immediately see what Crowley had been talking about with the distortion. The lenses looked fine from a distance of even a foot or so and they were very well made, but up close, there were tiny bubbles and other imperfections that warped anything viewed through them. “I see.”

“If you can’t fix them, it’s all right. I couldn’t figure it out.”

“I know, dear. However, I think if I just…” Aziraphale focused on one smooth area of glass and then asked the rest of it very nicely if it wouldn’t rather be like that section there? It was ever so much clearer and more even, after all.

The glass obliged, grateful for the intelligible instructions and eager to please the angel. When it was all smoothed out, Aziraphale handed the lenses back to Crowley. “There. How’s that?”

Crowley took them dubiously and put them on, already wondering how long it was going to take for his headache to come back. To his surprise, the distortions that had plagued him since he’d put the lenses on were gone, and he could look through them without feeling like the world was twisting around him in some weird painting style that hadn’t been invented yet. “How did you do that?”

“I asked nicely.”

“I ask nicely!”

“No. You ask _politely_. There is a difference.” Aziraphale beamed so brightly Crowley was glad he’d put the lenses on. “Sometimes being nice is worth it.”

Crowley rolled his eyes behind the lenses and heaved himself off the bed. “Right then. Wine?” It was a rhetorical question, so he didn’t wait for an answer, just walked over to the shelf where he’d tucked a jug and grabbed it along with a couple of cups. “It’s a better vintage than the last one we shared.”

“That’s hardly difficult,” Aziraphale said dryly as he accepted a cup. He took a cautious sip, then another and beamed up at Crowley. “Oh, that is lovely. Thank you.”

Crowley removed his lenses and raised them in a toasting gesture. “Likewise.” He set the lenses aside and sat down next to Aziraphale. “Now, what have you been up to recently, angel?”

* * *

[31] This did not stop him from enacting elaborate plans that almost always backfired on him, of course. He was always convinced that this time his plan would cause the maximum amount of minor suffering and petty annoyance in a way that he would be able to avoid. He was always wrong about this. [Return to text]


	10. Arthurian Legend

**537 AD – Wessex**

Aziraphale sent his squire away as soon as the young man had helped him out of his armor,[32] citing a need to pray for guidance on the matter of the Black Knight. The squire, who had expected Aziraphale to kill the knight in a battle worthy of song, nodded sagely before scurrying to join the others around the fire. Aziraphale watched him from inside his tent, wishing he could join them. It was warmer and dryer by the flickering flames, and the food roasting over it smelled scrummy.

He didn’t dare though, not until he had figured out what to do about Crowley.

With a sigh, he closed the flap on his tent, pulled a bottle of wine and a cup out of his trunk,[33] and sat down on his bed to start drinking. He would pray for guidance like he’d told his squire, but first he was going to see if drinking gave him any ideas.

He’d only gotten about halfway through his cup when he heard rustling at the back of his tent and looked up, watching as something bumped against the back of his tent a few times and then lifted the fabric. Aziraphale reached for his sword, ready to defend himself and the humans in the encampment, but then he recognized the red and black snout of a very large snake and relaxed. There was only one snake in England that could possibly be that large.

Aziraphale pulled a second cup from his trunk as Crowley finished slithering in and transformed back into his human shape. “You could have come in the normal way,” he said as he poured wine into the second cup and offered it to Crowley.

“Didn’t want to risk someone recognizing me.”

“So why come at all?”

“I figured we needed to talk.” Crowley took the cup and drank from it. “I don’t fancy Arthur sending knights after me until I’m discorporated. Don’t fancy killing them all, either. It’s lucky you were the first of Arthur’s knights to come.”

“Indeed it is. You’re right, though. He will send others if I don’t report success.”

“I don’t suppose you could lie about it?” Crowley asked with the air of someone who already knew the answer. “Tell them I was defeated?”

Aziraphale wished he could say yes, but even if he’d been willing—which he really shouldn’t have been, given that he was an angel—it wasn’t practical. “There were humans with me. They know I didn’t fight you. Besides, for that to work, you’d have to stop spreading foment. I can’t imagine Hell would be pleased with that.”

Crowley brushed off the concern as he always did when Aziraphale worried. “I can spread it elsewhere. Take up a new persona. Figure out another way to torment people.”

“And have knights come after you for that as well?” He reached for the wine to refill their cups and winced as his shoulder muscles pulled.

Crowley noticed and set his cup aside. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Aziraphale poured the wine. “That armor is ridiculously heavy, is all. I’m not used to carrying that much extra weight. I don’t know how you managed.”

“I miracled it lighter.” Crowley rolled his eyes. He hadn’t bothered with his glasses—he didn’t wear them while he was in armor and the people working for him thought his eyes were part of his power.[34] “Just because the humans can’t make it effective without it weighing as much as they do, doesn’t mean we have to operate in the same constraints.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” He’d thought of a lot of other things as he debated what to do about the uncomfortable armor, but simply making it lighter while it retained its strength hadn’t occurred to him. Nor had it occurred to him that he didn’t even need it to provide legitimate protection. A wound wouldn’t incapacitate him the way it would a human.

Crowley's expression was fond as he snapped his fingers. “There.”

“But won’t my squire notice?”

“He’ll think he’s getting stronger from lifting it. Want me to help with that?” He gestured toward Aziraphale's shoulders.

“Oh, would you?” Aziraphale beamed at Crowley. “I don’t think I can miracle it away and I think the humans are already worried about me since I didn’t simply kill you where you stood.”

“Well, we’ll call this repaying that favor.” Crowley gestured for Aziraphale to lie down and sat on the bed next to him, putting his hands on the angel’s shoulders. He started easy, squeezing lightly along the top and getting a feel for where the muscles had knotted up, then slid his hands down to Aziraphale's shoulder blades.

Aziraphale turned his head to the side so his nose wasn’t smashed into the mattress and he could talk to Crowley. “How do you recommend we solve this? We’re going to have to make it look like one of us killed or incapacitated the other, but if you kill me, Arthur will send more knights to take care of you, and if I kill you, you’ll get in trouble with Hell.”

“I’d rather neither of us killed the other.” Crowley worked his way around Aziraphale’s right shoulder blade, sliding his fingers over the muscles and pressing hard on the knots with his knuckles.

“It wouldn’t be real, dear fellow. We’d simply have to make it look good.”

“I’d still rather not. There’s always the chance that something could go wrong. And if one of us gets discorporated and our Head Office finds out who did it, there will be Heaven to pay. Or Hell, I suppose.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Aziraphale relaxed his arm as Crowley moved it into a different position, engaging different muscles for him to work on. “I can’t lie—they’ll figure it out, even if I modify the memories of everyone who came with me—and I won’t let Arthur send more knights after you. I don’t want you to kill any of them.”

“I don’t want to kill any of them either.” Crowley felt that was rather important to point out. He would, of course, if it came down to it, but he would much rather not kill humans. They didn’t enough of that on their own. Humans were amazingly clever, especially when it came to thinking up ways to be horrible to each other.

“Well, do you have any suggestions?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley moved to his left shoulder blade and started working the knots out of the muscles there. “We have to come up with something.”

Crowley was silent for a moment as he rolled his knuckles over the biggest knot he found in Aziraphale's shoulder. When it was gone and he’d moved on to the next he said, “You already rejected my suggestion.”

“You haven’t made one!”

“Earlier. When we were out there.” He gestured with his chin even though Aziraphale couldn’t see it from where he was lying. “You wanted nothing to do with what I suggested.” He tried to keep the hurt out of his voice as he thought about the way Aziraphale had simply turned him down without even really hearing him out, but a bit of it came through regardless.

Aziraphale twisted around, undoing a fair amount of Crowley's work, and looked at him incredulously. “You didn’t make any suggestion about how to get out of this situation when we were out there. We weren’t even in this situation yet!”

Sometimes, it amazed Crowley how stupid Aziraphale could be, especially given how intelligent he was.[35] “I suggested we work together. That’s the only thing that’s going to solve this problem.” He dug his knuckle into Aziraphale's shoulder, pressing just a bit harder than necessary as he worked at a knot in the muscle.

“Working together to get out of a situation we’re both in and working together so we don’t have to work as hard are two completely different things, Crowley.” Aziraphale turned his head so he was looking away from Crowley instead of toward him.

“But it would help us avoid future situations like this.”

“We will cross those bridges when we come to them.” Aziraphale sniffed and managed to convey the image of putting his nose in the air even though he was lying down on his front. It was rather uncanny. “We have to figure this out first.”

“If you stay here and cause dissent in my place, I can leave, but Arthur and his knights won’t ever find the Black Knight.” Crowley moved his hands up to the top of Aziraphale's shoulders and then on to his neck, pressing his fingers gently into the side and dragging them down to ease the tension there and relax the pull on Aziraphale's shoulders. “There wouldn’t be a Black Knight to find.”

“So I should stay in the damp and do _evil deeds_ while you swan off somewhere warm and dry?”

“It’s your fault we’re in this mess.”

“You’re the one spreading foment! How is it _my_ fault we’re in this mess?”

“If you hadn’t come—”

“Then you would have had to kill one of the other knights! Or they would have discorporated you!”

“You don’t have any suggestions that would work.” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale shoulders again, perhaps a bit harder than necessary, moving outward from his neck to his arm. “If you stay and sow enough discord to keep Hell from suspecting, then we won’t have to worry about the humans.”

“Or I could pretend to discorporate you, you could set up elsewhere in England, and I could arrange to be sent to dispatch you again. If you make yourself harder to find, after a few rounds we’ll both be sent on other assignments.” Aziraphale turned his head back so he was looking toward Crowley. “That way we don’t have to lie to our Head Offices.”

“It’s not lying. It’s getting the same result with less effort.”

“By _lying_. I can’t do it. Heaven might check, and how would I write reports on blessings you did? How would I justify temptations?” It wasn’t completely uncharted territory—future Saints and Popes and the like sometimes had to be tempted toward their paths—but outside of very specific circumstances, an angel would never tempt. Just as a demon would never bless. Not really. They would give things that appeared to be blessings, but in fact had a steep price attached to them, one that the humans didn’t see until far too late.

“It’s not that different. We do the same thing, really. We just aim for different results.” Crowley moved his hands down Aziraphale's back, repeatedly sliding them from just below his shoulder blades to the small of his back, loosening the muscles there that would pull on his shoulder. This was where most of the tension was—Aziraphale felt it in his shoulders, but it was his lower back that had done most of the work supporting the armor—and Crowley carefully massaged to release it.

Aziraphale's retort was lost when Crowley found _that_ spot—the one where most of the tension that was causing him pain originated from—and pressed down hard enough that Aziraphale could feel it radiating out through his back and shoulder muscles. When Crowley released it, Aziraphale let out a soft sigh. “Oh, that is better. I do appreciate it.”

“Enough to work with me?” Crowley arched one eyebrow as he looked down at Aziraphale. “We have to do something.”

“If we follow my plan, yes.” Aziraphale rolled over onto his back and sat up so he could look Crowley straight in the eyes. “And just for this. Our relationship is purely social. I’m not working with you on anything else. Or _not_ working with you, for that matter. I won’t sit back and do nothing because we cancel each other out.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose and sneered. “Fine. Just help me get out of this mess and I won’t bother you again.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“Do I?”

“I can’t do temptations, Crowley!” Aziraphale picked up his cup and twisted it in his hands. “And I can’t sit around and do nothing, not when I could be doing good! Even if that good is just countering your evil deeds.”

Crowley bit back the retort that was on the tip of his tongue. They could argue about this later. Or not, since he wasn’t planning to bring it up again unless he was desperate. He’d already been rejected enough, thank you. He wasn’t going to hand the angel reasons to do so on a silver platter. If all Aziraphale wanted was to be social, he would be social-ish, and nothing more.

“Right then,” he said, standing. “I’ll be off. Come pretend to kill me in the morning. Not too early, though. I’m planning to sleep tonight and I’d rather not be woken to fight.” With that, he transformed back into a snake and slithered out of the tent.

Aziraphale watched him go, feeling like he’d made some sort of mistake, but not sure what. He sighed and downed the rest of his wine. Maybe he could figure it out in the morning.

* * *

[32] He could have miracled out of it, of course, but since none of the humans were capable of removing their armor without assistance, it would have attracted the wrong sort of attention. These days, people were far more likely to suspect witchcraft than and sort of miracle, and Aziraphale did not want to be discorporated because he had undressed with a miracle. The paperwork would be atrocious and the quartermaster would never let him live it down. [Return to text]

[33] Technically, the wine wasn’t in his trunk, but in his rooms in Camelot. He simply expected the trunk would hold anything he wanted from his rooms, and so it did. [Return to text]

[34] To be fair, they weren’t exactly _wrong_. [Return to text]

[35] In the future, when inciting panic over Dungeons & Dragons, he would learn about how intelligence and wisdom were different stats, and he would understand, at least a little, how Aziraphale could be so smart and yet so dumb sometimes. Of course, the same could be applied to him, but as with most beings, Crowley was rather blind to his own faults and thus didn’t realize that this was really a situation of the pot calling the kettle black. [Return to text]


	11. Lombard Revolt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is the most obscure historical reference, I thought I'd give a little context. Basically, the Byzantines held power in Southern Italy and in 1009, Melus of Bari and his brother-in-law Dattus revolted against them. Lots of stuff happened that eventually led to the Great Schism of what is now the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Churches, but the important part is that in 1020, while Melus was in what's now Germany, Dattus was captured and punished with a _mazzeratura_ , which is sewing him in a leather sack with a monkey, a rooster, and a snake, and drowning him.

**1020 AD – Bari, Italy**

Crowley stumbled out of the sea, collapsing face down on the sand. For a moment, he looked dead, something that would have been disturbing to anyone walking along the shore that night, but then he remembered that breathing was something he needed to do to blend in, and consciously started again. Fortunately, these bodies were designed with human specifications and it didn’t take any effort to get the rhythm right. He simply turned his head to the side, inhaled, and his body took care of the rest.

He lay still for several minutes, just breathing and enjoying not being trapped in a sack with an idiotic human, a rooster, and a monkey. He felt bad about the monkey and the rooster, but he’d been so disoriented when the humans had grabbed him and stuffed him in the sack with Dattus that by the time he had figured out what had happened and what he needed to do, it had been far too late for them.[36]

He had just about gathered enough energy to think about moving when he saw someone walking along the beach, dressed all in white and cream, practically glowing in the moonlight. No, not practically glowing, actually glowing. Aziraphale saw him at the same time and hurried to his side. “Crowley?”

“Mmm.” Crowley cleared his throat and tried again. “A-Angel.”

“Oh, thank Heaven! I was worried you had been discorporated when I heard what they did!”

“Heaven didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Aziraphale sat back on his heels and gave Crowley a stern look. “Well, I’m not thanking Hell.”

“They didn’t have anything to do with it either, Aziraphale.” Crowley heaved himself onto his back and lay there, breathing heavily. “I swam back. After I got out of that blessed sack. That took forever.”

“It’s only been two days.”

“Oh, only.” Crowley rolled his eyes, glad for once that he wasn’t wearing his glasses so Aziraphale could see it clearly. “You didn’t spend most of it tied in a leather sack with three dead bodies!”

“I thought it was only Dattus?”

“And a monkey and a rooster.”

“And a snake.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t dead. Thankfully. I’m not sure how. I must have stopped breathing on instinct.”

“Perhaps.” Aziraphale eyed Crowley appraisingly. “Are you planning to stay here for the rest of the night?”

Crowley seriously considered the question. He didn’t actually need rest any more than he needed to breathe or eat, but after five thousand years on a planet one got used to certain things, and right now Crowley's instincts were telling him that he should be worn out after that ordeal. “Dunno. How long is that?”

“Honestly.” Aziraphale pulled down power and Crowley found himself wearing dry clothes, including boots, which he hadn’t bothered to manifest when he changed from snake-shaped to human-shaped to swim to shore, and tinted glasses.

“Thanks,” Crowley said, then sternly reminded himself that he was a demon and lying spread eagle on the beach in the middle of the night was not proper demonic activity.[37] He sat up with as little grace as he had used when he’d rolled over and blessed as his neck muscles pulled uncomfortably. He kneaded at them with one hand, making little progress in relieving the pain or in getting up.

Aziraphale shot him a disapproving look and stood, holding out his hand. “Come on. I’ll help you with that back at your place.”

Crowley let Aziraphale pull him to his feet. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were… up in England still.”

“I was sent to perform some minor miracles and bless a church not too far from here.” Aziraphale caught up to Crowley, took his elbow, and guided him back toward the city. “I heard about Dattus and how they found the most unusual snake to stuff in a sack with him and, well. I thought I’d best come and see if there was anything I could do.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be. I found your rooms. There was a new assignment waiting for you. Rather time-sensitive. Had to be done yesterday. I took care of it for you.”

Crowley stopped, pulled his glasses from his eyes, and gaped at Aziraphale. “You _what_?”

Aziraphale smirked in a way that Crowley would become very familiar with over the next millennia. One day, when he called Aziraphale _just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing_ , it would be this smirk that he thought of.

“I took care of it for you,” Aziraphale repeated, as though Crowley had asked because he simply hadn’t heard. He took Crowley’s elbow once more and pulled him along at a slightly faster pace. “A minor official passed through the area yesterday. Hell wanted you to tempt him to steal… something.” He waved his free hand dismissively. “It’s not important.”

“Not important! But you-you _tempted_ someone!”

“Yes, dear. Do keep up.”

Crowley wasn’t sure if Aziraphale meant mentally or physically, as his usual saunter was slowed by legs still shaky from the _mazzeratura_. He quickened his steps until his pace matched the angel’s. “But you-you said we couldn’t work together. That you wouldn’t do evil deeds to help me!”

“It was hardly an overwhelmingly evil deed, Crowley. And I wasn’t going to let Hell punish you because you weren’t able to do their bidding.” He looked at Crowley as they rounded a corner close to his dwelling. “From the gleeful wording of their missive, I suspect they knew you were unavailable. It’s hardly fair to expect you to do something impossible.”

“It’s _Hell_ , angel. It’s kind of defined by not being fair.”

“Yes, well. It’s not like I tempted the man to steal from the destitute. And I owed you, from… Wessex, I believe. Wherever we last met up as knights. You helped me with my armor.”

Crowley unlocked the door to his rooms with a snap. He had left the key when he’d gone to see Dattus, not that he ever bothered with it. Keys were things other beings worried about. “You said that wouldn’t convince you to work with me. Or even to… cooperatively not work with me.”

Aziraphale followed him inside and shut the door. “I changed my mind.”

“Can I ask why?”

“It’s all the travel, if you must know. There are so many people now. Heaven keeps sending me all over. I can’t do that and thwart you at the same time. So I thought, well, you’d suggested we stay out of each other’s way.” Aziraphale tugged determinedly on his tunic. He was not going to start second-guessing himself about this.[38] “Now sit down and let me help you.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow at the imperious tone, but did as he was told and sat straddling one of the benches at the table.

Aziraphale sat facing him and put one hand on the back of Crowley's neck. “Is this where it hurts?” He could feel the heat coming from the muscles even with his feather-light touch and knew that he would feel knots if he pressed harder.

“Yes.” Crowley nodded and Aziraphale urged him to lean forward until his forehead was resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder. His tunic was impossibly soft against Crowley's skin, and his warmth made Crowley want to move closer so he could soak it up like the snake he sometimes was.

Aziraphale started by kneading Crowley's neck muscles with one hand, pinching the muscles and skin on either side of his spine, forcing them to move enough that he could get a good sense of what, exactly, hurt. As Crowley's head got heavier on his shoulder, Aziraphale moved his hand to the base of Crowley's neck, just over his spine, and gently pressed with one finger as he moved it upwards in a circular motion.

Crowley moaned as Aziraphale hit a particularly sore spot, practically melting against Aziraphale as the angel focused there for a moment. When he moved on, it felt so much better that Crowley was half-convinced that had been the entire problem.

Aziraphale kept moving his finger in circles up and down Crowley's neck, gradually working his way around to the side. “How did you end up in that sack, anyway? I would have thought you would simply miracle yourself away.” The area just behind Crowley's jaw was especially tight, and Aziraphale focused there for a moment, pressing in on a knot until it released and then repeating the whole process on the other side of Crowley's neck.

Crowley blinked his eyes as he tried to focus on something other than the way Aziraphale’s hands felt on his neck. “They surprised me. Hit me and knocked me out. I wasn’t expecting it. I didn’t even think they’d see me as small as I was.”

“But why were you a snake?” Aziraphale walked his fingers down the area just underneath Crowley's jaw, gently moving them in circles when he hit a tender spot. “Why weren’t you in this form?”

“Orders,” Crowley spat. “Hell wanted me to be there as a snake so I wouldn’t be noticed.” Though now he suspected that the plan had been for him to be seen all along. It was a bit too coincidental that the snake intended for that gruesome fate had escaped, prompting the humans to look in the nooks and crannies where Crowley was hiding. Coupled with the job Aziraphale had taken care of for him while he was indisposed, it was starting to look like a setup. “Who were my orders from?”

“The ones I handled?”

“No, the ones I got last month!” Crowley snapped sarcastically. “Yes, the ones you took care of!”

Aziraphale’s hand froze. “There’s no need to be snippy.”

“Right. Sorry.” Crowley blew out a frustrated breath. “Who were they from? I think I might have been set up.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips as he started massaging Crowley's neck again. “I don’t remember. It started with an H, I think?”

“Hastur,” Crowley growled, drawing out the name as he sat up. “I’m going to discorporate him. _Painfully_.”

“Crowley! You can’t!” Aziraphale dropped his hands to his lap and started worrying a the edge of his tunic. “He’ll retaliate!”

“That’s what I’m doing!”

“Yes, but—” Aziraphale sighed, pushed Crowley's head back to his shoulder, and started massaging again. “What if he does worse than discorporate you?”

“That’s what he was trying to do.”

“And he failed. I thwarted his evil plan by helping you,” Aziraphale added smugly. It was amazing how that had worked out this time. Crowley was certainly a better demon to deal with than any of the others Aziraphale had heard about. “Isn’t that better revenge? He can’t punish you. You did what you were told the other day and your tempting yesterday… got done. If you retaliate, you’ll just escalate it.”

And he might have to deal with a different demon, which was wholly unacceptable. He knew what to expect with Crowley, most of the time. And he doubted a new demon would be amenable to sharing wine and trading massages… assuming Aziraphale was willing. He’d seen other demons. They didn’t exactly look like someone he’d let touch him.

Hastur _could_ still punish Crowley—it wasn’t as though anyone in Hell followed rules they didn’t absolutely have to and Hastur outranked him—but he’d have to be more creative about it, and Hastur was not known for his creativity. And Aziraphale was right. It would be much more satisfying to watch Hastur’s face as he reported that everything had gone as planned and the temptation had been done on schedule. “Yes, all right.”

“Oh good.” Aziraphale didn’t want to think too hard about why he felt so relieved that Crowley wouldn’t be unnecessarily antagonizing another demon. He shouldn’t care. Then again, he shouldn’t have done most of the things he’d done with Crowley over the past five millennia. He should have sent Crowley away on the wall of Eden, but he’d been so earnest, and well, it wasn’t as though there was another face that had remained unchanged since the beginning. It was far too late to worry about what he should do.

Aziraphale started working on Crowley's neck again, sliding his hands from the back of Crowley's neck to the front, maintaining gentle pressure, then pinching it between his fingers and his palm. It was significantly less tense than it had been, and as he moved back to rubbing circles over Crowley's spine, he asked, “Did I get everything?”

Crowley reluctantly sat up and rolled his head from side to side, testing the muscles. Nothing pinched or pulled, not even when he touched his chin to his chest or tilted his head all the way back to look at the ceiling. “Yes. Can I…” He searched the room for anything he could offer in thanks instead of saying the words. Aziraphale had done a lot, pushed father out of his comfort zone than Crowley had expected, and he didn’t want to endanger that by carelessly flinging around words of thanks. “…offer you some wine? Or perhaps I could buy you breakfast when the sun comes up?” He’d found that food was almost always an easy way to tempt Aziraphale.

Aziraphale almost declined—he shouldn’t stay in Bari, not when he had duties elsewhere—but then Crowley mentioned breakfast and his interest piqued. “What did you have in mind?”

“There’s a place down the street that I’m told does amazing frittatas,” Crowley offered, knowing Aziraphale would agree even as he said it.

He wasn’t wrong. Aziraphale’s mouth watered at the thought and he immediately decided he could get back to his assignment after breakfast. “That sounds scrumptious. Shall we… have some wine while we wait for them to open?”

Crowley rolled his eyes fondly. “Whatever you want, angel.”

* * *

[36] It had been far too late for Dattus too, but Crowley cared less about that. [Return to text]

[37] _Lurking_ on the beach might have been, though beaches ranked rather low in the hierarchy of places appropriate for lurking. Lurking generally required shadows, though Olympic-grade lurkers could manage it anywhere, and thus was generally confined to areas of the beach with piers or other things to partially hide under or behind. Bonfires on the beach made for excellent lurking—the flicker of the flames added to the menace of anyone who managed to stay just outside their light—but there was a nearly full moon that night and no bonfire. [Return to text]

[38] Not right then, anyway. He did second-guess it (and third- and fourth- and fiftieth-guess it as well), but he still came to the conclusion that it was the right choice. [Return to text]


	12. Elizabethan England

**1601 AD – London, England**

“I must say, my dear, you absolutely outdid yourself.” Aziraphale beamed at Crowley as they walked out of the Globe, threading through the sold-out crowd with ease. It wasn't the first time he’d said so that night—that had been when he finally found Crowley among the throngs of onlookers—but he meant it just as fervently now as he had then. The play had been simply lovely, especially with the added feedback of the audience, and the sardonic remarks Crowley had whispered into his ear had only added to Aziraphale’s enjoyment. Not that he would admit that aloud.

“So you've said.” Crowley brushed off the compliment just like he had the others Aziraphale had given him. “I didn't do much.”

“Nonsense! You could have just made it moderately popular. This is going above and beyond.”

Crowley wasn’t about to admit that he'd only planned to make it moderately popular but when he’d done the miracle, he had been thinking about that pleased expression Aziraphale had given him and he’d put a bit too much emphasis into it. Instead, he smirked and said, “Practically everyone in London is spending four hours doing nothing but watching this and gorging themselves on food and drink. It's sloth and gluttony combined, angel, and that's not even getting into the petty bickering in the crowd and the vanity of the actors. Going big will keep Hell off my back for months.”

Aziraphale huffed but otherwise didn't let his disappointment show. “Well, I think it's marvelous regardless. It's such a clever play. Humans will never cease to amaze me.” He stepped over a large puddle and winced as the extra-large step pulled on the muscles in his leg and buttocks.

Crowley raised one eyebrow and peered over his glasses at Aziraphale as he also stepped over the puddle. “Hurt yourself?”

“Not exactly.” Aziraphale tugged on his doublet and straightened his cuffs as he carefully looked anywhere but at Crowley.

“So what was that, then? Looked like you were hurt to me.”

“If you must know, I’m still sore from riding that horse. I don’t know how humans stand it.”

“Apparently, they get used to it.”

“Really.”

“That’s what I’ve been told.” Crowley snapped his fingers at the next puddle, drying it up before either of them had to step over it. “I don’t know if it works the same way for angels and demons. I don’t care to find out.”

“No.” Aziraphale shook his head, appalled at the idea of repeating _that_ experience enough to get used to it. “Don’t want to do that again.”

“Can’t imagine why anyone would.” Crowley miracled another puddle out of their path and they walked in companionable silence until they were close to the building Aziraphale had purchased upon learning he would be mostly based in England.

“Would you like—”

“I could—”

They both stopped and took a metaphorical step back to let the other proceed. After a beat of awkward silence, Crowley said, “After you.”

“No, no, you first, my dear.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows over his glasses. “All right. I was going to say I could see if I could help with…” He made a motion toward the lower half of Aziraphale’s body. “That.”

“Oh. Oh, could you? That would be lovely.” Aziraphale beamed. “I was about to ask you in for a drink. I have a few bottles of a lovely wine I picked up the last time I was in France.”

“Oooh!” Crowley drew out the word in delight. “Well, then. Shall we?”

Aziraphale opened the door to his building and stepped inside. He hadn’t done much with the ground floor yet—it was mostly filled with things[39] he’d accumulated over the centuries. He’d had vague thoughts of maybe turning it into some sort of shop, though he wasn’t sure what he would sell. The first floor was also disorganized. There wasn’t any point in organizing until he’d decided what, exactly, he wanted to do with the rest of the building. He had no desire to rent it out (and he had accumulated too much stuff to clear out any sort of area for humans anyway) but it was too nice to simply use as storage.

The second floor, however, was the one he’d set up a home in, or at least, as much of a home as he needed. There were comfortable chairs and large windows that let in the sunlight as well as several lanterns and candles to provide light to read by. Not that he needed the light to read—angels could see in the dark just fine—but he’d found that the neighbors worried if there weren’t ever any lights on after the sun set.

The flat he’d set up had a bed, not because Aziraphale ever needed it, but because he had gotten the idea from staying in rented rooms and traveling with humans that beds were something they considered a necessity. He’d found it quite impossible to imagine a flat without one, so when he’d miraculously furnished the flat, one had appeared. It had been easier to keep it than to get rid of it.

He was glad for it now, as Crowley headed straight there as soon as they entered the flat, barely glancing at everything else Aziraphale had set up. He sat down on the edge of it and raised one eyebrow over his glasses as he looked at the angel. “Shall we?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale turned in a circle as he tried to remember where he’d put the bottles of wine. Ah! There they were, over in the corner with the cups. He grabbed two cups as well as the bottle, opened it with a minor miracle, and poured. “Here you are, my dear.”

Crowley took the cup and raised it in a toast, his mouth curling up in amusement. “Cheers, though this isn’t what I was referring to.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No…” Crowley drew out the word, letting his amusement seep into his voice. Of course Aziraphale had been distracted by wine. Crowley had bought him fruit several times during the performance and he’d eaten every piece with utter delight. Crowley had enjoyed watching him far more than he’d enjoyed the play, though he had to admit Burbage gave a much better performance when he had an audience to play off of.

Aziraphale furrowed his brow as he tried to decipher Crowley's meaning, then realized that of course Crowley wanted to take care of the massage first. He would claim it that would free them up for a night of drinking without worrying about any other plans, but they both knew it was because he enjoyed being able to help Aziraphale like this.[40] “Of course.” He set his wine aside and eyed the bed. “How should I…?”

“What hurts?” Crowley took another sip of his wine before setting it on the floor next to the bed.

“My, well… they’re areas that humans consider a bit unseemly to touch most of the time.” Aziraphale sat down on the bed next to Crowley. “My buttocks for one. And, well, all of my legs, really, though especially here.” He pointed to his inner thighs.

Crowley waved off the idea that either of them should worry about what humans considered sensitive areas. “Good thing we aren’t human, then.” He thought for a moment about the best way to deal with Aziraphale's aches, and then said, “Lie down on your front.”

It took a bit of maneuvering—the bed wasn’t that big—but Aziraphale managed to lie down on his stomach without making Crowley get up from his position about halfway down the bed. Crowley turned so he was facing Aziraphale's head, scooted down until he was next to Aziraphale's thighs, and eyed the outfit Aziraphale was wearing. The hose were fine, but the pants and the doublet were just going to get in the way. “This isn’t going to work.”

Aziraphale lifted his head and twisted around so he could see what Crowley meant. The problem was apparent immediately and he snapped, changing his fashionable clothes into loose pants and a simple shirt that would have made him look like a member of the lower classes if it weren’t for the fine material they were made of. He had standards, after all, and while he was willing to forego the fashionable cuts and styles in the comfort of his own home when Crowley was the only other being around, he was not willing to forego the comfort of fine fabric.

Crowley huffed a laugh at the change. “I was going to take care of it.”

“I would’ve ended up dressed all in black!” Aziraphale was absolutely scandalized by the idea. Black was not his color at all.

“Maybe.” Crowley had been considering it, though he knew Aziraphale preferred the cream and white that matched Heaven’s color scheme.[41] Aziraphale's choice solved the immediate problem, though, so he put one hand on Aziraphale buttocks, marveled at the softness of the fabric he’d chosen, and pressed. He could feel the tightness in Aziraphale's muscles immediately and he curled his hand into a fist and pressed down on it with his knuckles.

Aziraphale hissed as the pain flared momentarily, then made a soft pleased sound as Crowley rolled his knuckles over the knot and it started to release. “That feels… wonderful, dear.”

Crowley hummed softly as he moved his knuckles again, sliding them toward Aziraphale's hips. He hit a knot so tight that Aziraphale almost miracled off the bed in an effort to get away and immediately pulled his hand back. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Aziraphale turned his head toward Crowley. “I’m… a bit tender there, is all.”

“A _bit_?” Crowley raised both his eyebrows and let his glasses slide down his nose for good measure as he stared incredulously at Aziraphale. “You practically jumped off the bed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I would have miracled myself across the room.”

Crowley laughed, loud and delighted, “You would have miracled yourself across the room? Why?”

“I don’t—” Aziraphale sighed. “You can keep going. Just… perhaps a little gentler, there? It’s very tender.”

That wasn’t an answer, but Crowley hadn’t really expected to get one. He understood the urge to get away from pain, probably better than Aziraphale did, so he simply resumed his massage, lightening his touch on the outside of Aziraphale hip until he could feel the tight knot start to relax under his ministrations.

Aziraphale sighed, his whole body relaxing further as he exhaled and made a pleased sound as the knot finally disappeared under Crowley's touch. Crowley smiled as he started working on the other side, carefully rubbing circles with his knuckles as he determined where the kinks were in Aziraphale's gluteus maximus. By the time he’d gotten them out and moved to the backs of Aziraphale's legs, the angel was breathing deep and even, his eyes heavily lidded as he looked at Crowley.

“This all right?” Crowley asked as he moved down to the back of Aziraphale thighs. The muscles there were tight too and he pressed carefully with the flat of his hand, moving it in slow, tight circles as he carefully worked to loosen them.

“It’s lovely,” Aziraphale said, his words slurred as though he were drunk. “Should’ve come to you as soon as I got back from Edinburgh.” He’d sent a note to Crowley to let him know the tempting had been successful, but it had been a week since he’d returned, and his muscles had gotten tighter every day.

Carefully, Crowley increased the pressure he was using, first switching from gentle circles to sliding the edge of his hand up and down Aziraphale's hamstring. When he’d found the stubborn spots that wouldn’t loosen with that, mostly near Aziraphale's knee, he used two knuckles to carefully worked on those spots, rubbing small circles with his knuckles and then gently pinching the side of Aziraphale’s knee between his fingers and palm.

Aziraphale tensed several times, prompting Crowley to pull back and wait for the angel to relax before continuing. He always did, and by the time Crowley moved down to Aziraphale's calves, he wasn’t sure that Aziraphale was still awake.

He was proven wrong when Aziraphale mumbled, “You don’t have to do that. I mostly got that part stretched out.”

Crowley ignored him. He’d ridden horses—or at least Hell beasts that looked and mostly acted like horses—a few times, and one thing he remembered was how his calves had hurt from holding his feet in stirrups and trying to control the horse that way. He slid the side of his hand up and down Aziraphale's calf then switched to moving his knuckles in circles when he found the tight spot he’d been expecting.

“Oh!” Aziraphale consciously relaxed his leg muscles as Crowley worked on the knots in his calf. “I hadn’t realized those muscles hurt.”

“They probably didn’t, compared to the rest of your legs.” The knots Crowley had worked out of Aziraphale's hamstrings and buttocks had been much bigger and tighter than the ones he was working on now.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise. He supposed that made sense—he had been so focused on trying to ignore the pain near his hips that he’d actually ignored the pain in his calves—but the idea had never occurred to him. It was strange to think that perhaps he had injured his corporation in other ways and hadn’t noticed because he had been focused on something else. Well, something besides reading, anyway. He’d already known that he could miss quite a bit when he got wrapped up in a good book.

Crowley finished working the knots out of Aziraphale’s calves and then gently patted the one he’d been massaging. “Better?”

Aziraphale easily sat up and climbed off the bed without a twinge. He took a few comically large steps, pretending he was stepping over puddles that were much larger than the ones Crowley had miracled away. Nothing hurt at all and he beamed as he picked up his wine and settled into one of his cozy chairs. “Much. I feel as though I never rode a horse!”

“Good.” Crowley picked up his wine as well and joined Aziraphale, dragging the other chair closer to him and slouching in it as though he didn’t understand how to properly use them.[42] When he was settled, he took a long sip of his wine and then grinned. “Any idea what Will is going to write next? I know you’ve been influencing him.”

Aziraphale blushed and looked down into his wine. “Well…”

* * *

[39] Books. It was almost entirely books. [Return to text]

[40] Aziraphale didn’t blame him. Though he’d never wish any sort of pain on Crowley, he had enjoyed the times he’d been able to provide relief to Crowley for the aches and pains that came with a human body. [Return to text]

[41] At least, cream and white matched the color scheme that he remembered from before his Fall. He would have been surprised to learn that they had switched to cooler colors like pale grey sometime after the Almighty kicked out half Her angels, especially since Aziraphale never showed any inclination toward them. Of course, Aziraphale had been on Earth longer than Crowley had, though not by long, so it was possible he wasn’t up to date on the color scheme either. [Return to text]

[42] He did. Obviously. Stools and benches had been invented long before chairs with backs, much less comfortable chairs, and it was much harder to sprawl across a stool than to slouch insouciantly in a comfortable chair. Crowley just preferred to sit that way. [Return to text]


	13. Reign of Terror

**1793 AD – Paris, France**

Aziraphale dabbed at his lips as he finished the last of the crepes they’d ordered for lunch. He’d eaten all of his and half of Crowley's, though Crowley had stolen a couple bites of the one Aziraphale had ordered for himself after Aziraphale had raved about it. “That was scrummy.”

“Scrummy?” Crowley wrinkled his nose, which Aziraphale thought looked unreasonably adorable considering how utterly ridiculous he looked in that get up—and with his hair styled like _that_. Whoever had invented that style probably deserved to go to Hell.

“Yes.” It had been too pleasant of an afternoon for Aziraphale to be offended when Crowley made fun of his language. The food had been delicious, the company was good if occasionally annoying, the Bastille[43] was all the way on the other side of the city, and Aziraphale hadn’t had to use a single miracle all afternoon other than the one he’d used to change clothes. If it weren’t for how his wrists were hurting, it would have been the perfect afternoon.

He rubbed at them surreptitiously, but Crowley saw and took one gently in his hand. He turned Aziraphale's hand over, looking at the emerging bruises and red marks closely before looking up at Aziraphale. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just sore.” Aziraphale tried to downplay it. He wasn’t going to let his folly ruin the evening. “Nothing to worry about.”

Crowley hummed as he brushed his fingers gently over the red spot on Aziraphale arm. The redness faded, the bruising and chafing from the iron manacles healed, leaving only the soreness from holding his hands just so for several hours. Crowley repeated the gesture on Aziraphale's other wrist then looked at Aziraphale over the tops of his glasses. “Better?”

Aziraphale nodded, though he made no effort to pull his hands back. Crowley was holding them both very gently, and Aziraphale wanted to maintain the contact for as long as Crowley would let him. “Yes.”

“But?” Crowley raised one eyebrow at Aziraphale. He knew that tone, knew that Aziraphale was holding something back.

“It’s nothing,” Aziraphale protested, but when Crowley just kept looking at him, his gaze steady and unwavering, he sighed. “My forearms are sore,” he said as he ducked his head to escape Crowley's stare.

Crowley laughed, a bit too loud in Aziraphale's opinion. “Your forearms are sore. From the shackles. That you could have gotten out of at any time.”

“I didn’t want to raise suspicion!”

“Of course not. Can’t have that.” Crowley sighed at Aziraphale's wounded look and stood, letting go of Aziraphale's wrists. “Come on, angel. I’ll help you back at my place.”

Aziraphale’s wrists suddenly felt too cold. “You have a place here?”

“I told you I was in the area.” Crowley led the way out of the restaurant and through the streets of Paris to the building that housed the flat he was renting. He unlocked the door with a tap of his finger and gestured for Aziraphale to precede him inside. “After you.”

The rooms were sparsely furnished as Crowley had rented them for a short period of time and hadn’t seen the need to change anything that had come with the flat. He had to be seen in the area—he was getting credit for this mess with Hell, after all—but he spent most of his time drinking or trying to convince the aristocracy that the way to keeping their heads attached to their bodies was to be a bit more generous with their wealth.

He hadn’t been very successful, but at least he could tell himself that he tried.

Aziraphale stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure where to sit. There was a table with a bench, a cabinet and some shelves hold dishes and wine, and a bed in the adjoining room, but that was all. There was no place to simply relax with a friend, though Aziraphale was right in his assumption that he was the first being Crowley had brought back here.

Crowley looked around as well, then snapped his fingers. A plush chaise lounge appeared, styled after the ones that had been so comfortable back in Rome, though with much plusher padding and black velvet upholstery. “Have a seat. Wine?”

“Please.” Aziraphale shook his head fondly as he sat. Of course Crowley would miracle up a luxurious lounge when faced with giving Aziraphale a place to sit. They’d had wine with the crepes, of course, but Aziraphale was never one to turn down a good wine and Crowley could be counted on to always provide just that.

Crowley poured two goblets and handed one to Aziraphale. He took a sip of his and smiled as he set it aside on a low table that sprung into existence as he glared at the space under the goblet. “May I?”

Aziraphale took another sip of his wine and extended his other hand. Crowley took it and began slowly rubbing his thumb in circles over the inside of Aziraphale’s forearm. It was more a calming touch than a healing one, but Aziraphale simply basked in the sensation of Crowley's fingers on his arm as he leaned against the side of the lounge and sipped his wine.

“Were you really going to let them chop off your head?” Crowley asked as he switched from his thumb to his knuckles and zeroed in on a knot in Aziraphale's muscles. He pressed harder with his knuckle, sliding it back and forth over the knot and then dragging it up towards Aziraphale's elbow while still maintaining pressure.

“I—” Aziraphale started, then stopped as he tried to think what the honest answer would be. He wanted to believe that he would have followed the rules and let them discorporate him, but then he thought that maybe a miracle to escape would be better than having to requisition a new body. The quartermaster wouldn’t have been happy if he had to issue Aziraphale a new body, but Gabriel wouldn’t have been happy if Aziraphale had used a frivolous miracle to escape. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Crowley scowled, half at Aziraphale, half at the coat he was wearing which was getting in the way of the massage. That, at least, was easily solved, and with an impatient snap, Crowley fixed it so the coat was hanging over the back of the chair and Aziraphale's sleeves were rolled up.

“Oh!” Aziraphale looked down at his suddenly bare arms in surprise, though it quickly melted away to bliss as Crowley started his massage again, this time with his hands on Aziraphale's skin.

Crowley rolled his knuckles on Aziraphale's arm a few times, then summoned a bottle of oil with a snap and poured a small amount into one hand. He rubbed his hands together, coating them both, and started again. His hands slid across Aziraphale’s skin with ease as he worked first one knot, then another, rolling his knuckles over them before sliding his thumb along the length of Aziraphale's arm, massaging the whole muscle as he worked to get the knots to release. As he focused on the side of Aziraphale's elbow, he murmured, “You haven’t answered my question.”

Aziraphale flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry. You distracted me.”

“I can stop.”

“No, no, I can focus.” Aziraphale dragged his thoughts from the way Crowley's hands felt against his skin and tried to come up with an answer. “I honestly don’t know. I probably would have, at the last moment, if you hadn’t shown up, but I was trying to get out of there without miracles. They didn’t want to listen to reason!”

“Mobs don’t use reason, angel. They act on instinct and emotion.” Crowley slid his hands onto Aziraphale's upper arm over his shirt and started kneading the knots there with his knuckles, again alternating between circles and short vertical strokes. “And that was a mob.”

“It was one man!” Aziraphale gasped as Crowley dug his thumb into the front of his shoulder, sliding it up and down to work the muscles and tendons there.

Crowley worked his way up over Aziraphale's shoulder and down the back, repeating the short strokes with his fingers and thumb. “There was one man in the cell, but he was part of the mob. Make no mistake. You saw what happened when they came to take you away but only found him.”

Aziraphale had been trying not to think about that. He’d put the man in his clothes, after all. Well, most of his clothes; he’d kept his shirt because he could not stand the idea of wearing the man’s plain shirt and thin tie. That was much more Crowley's style, and while Aziraphale enjoyed seeing the demon in it, he didn’t want to wear it himself.

“Yes, but they thought he was me.” It sounded weak even as he said it, but he had to hang on to something.

Crowley wasn’t going to let him. “Did they?” He poured another dab of oil on his fingers and started working on Aziraphale’s hand, digging his thumbs into the pad of the angel’s palm.

Aziraphale sighed, picked up his goblet, and drank it all in one go. “Probably not. But he had beheaded nine hundred and ninety-eight other humans, so he probably deserved it.”

“I’ll probably get another commendation for it,” Crowley drawled as he refilled Aziraphale's goblet. “I know Hell is looking forward to getting their hands on the executioners.”[44]

Aziraphale was supposed to want the opportunity to redeem the man, to influence him toward good so he would be destined for Heaven, but this time he decided it was the greater good to simply remove the evil person from the world so everyone else would have a better chance at redemption.

That they were unlikely to achieve it as long as mob mentality ruled was beside the point. They would have the option, and a slightly better chance than they did before Aziraphale sent that executioner to his death.

Mental gymnastics done, Aziraphale beamed at Crowley. “You’re welcome, then.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I don’t _want_ commendations, Aziraphale. Give me your other hand.”

Aziraphale switched the hand he held his goblet in and held his hand out to Crowley. Crowley reached for it, made a face, and walked around to the other side of the lounge so he could reach Aziraphale's arm without having to lean or force Aziraphale to stretch it awkwardly across his body.

“Commendations are better than them getting upset with you, aren’t they?”

“Commendations mean something horrible is happening to the humans. I’ve never liked that.” Crowley poured more oil into his palm and started working on Aziraphale’s inner forearm again. The knots were even worse on the right side than they had been on the left—probably because Aziraphale used his right hand more. Clearly, the knots weren’t only from the weight of the shackles. “What have you been doing?”

“Nothing unusual. Reading, blessings…”

“You’ve managed to do _this_ to your arms reading and giving blessings.” Crowley tossed his glasses aside so Aziraphale could see his disbelieving look.

“And being locked up in the Bastille.” Aziraphale took another sip of wine, though it did nothing to hide his hiss as Crowley worked knots out of too-tight muscles. “I’ve also started procuring books. They can get quite heavy, you know.”

“Yes.” Crowley had helped Aziraphale move some books once. It wasn’t an experience he’d care to repeat, and that wasn’t just because he was a demon who had no interest in doing nice things for people.[45] “This seems excessive, though.”

“Well, it’s been over two thousand years since you last massaged my arms.”

“And, what, you’ve just let your muscles tense up because I haven’t been here to take care of them?” Crowley drank more of his wine, using a minor miracle to keep the goblet from slipping out of his oil-slick hands. “You didn’t think that you should have someone else help you? Or do it yourself? I know miracles don’t work for this because there’s no injury to heal, but you can reach one arm with the other.”

“It doesn’t feel as nice.”

“And humans?” Crowley slid his knuckles up and down the length of Aziraphale's forearm. “Did you think to ask them?”

“They’re not as good at it!”

“You could have taught them.”

“I didn’t want to. I wanted you to take care of it!” Aziraphale flushed as he clamped his lips shut. He hadn’t meant for that to come out, but there wasn’t any concrete reason he could give that would make sense. He just… wanted Crowley to help him when he needed a massage, just as he wanted Crowley to rescue him from situations he could easily get out of himself. He could barely admit it to himself, though. Crowley was never supposed to know.

Crowley just stared at Aziraphale for a moment, his hands still, as he processed that information. Aziraphale wanted his help him with this, a fact that Crowley struggled to wrap his mind around. He knew Aziraphale appreciated it.. He’d been grateful every time Crowley had helped and he was always willing to return the favor when Crowley was the one who needed massage, but Crowley hadn’t assumed that he was the only one who got to touch Aziraphale this way. It warmed something inside him that he was absolutely not going to think about.

“You could have asked,” he finally said, softly, as he resumed the massage. “You don’t have to use these elaborate schemes to get me to give you a massage. I’ll do it if you ask.” He let _I’ll do whatever you need_ unsaid, but he was certain that Aziraphale heard it.

Aziraphale’s flush deepened at the intensity of Crowley's offer. He shouldn’t ask, he knew. That went beyond their arrangement into more dangerous territory. Not that what they were doing now wasn’t dangerous, but planning for it, _asking_ for it… Aziraphale wasn’t sure he could manage that. “I will keep that in mind,” he finally settled on, locking the way the offer had made him feel deep inside his heart. Someday, perhaps, he would be brave enough to pull it out and take Crowley up on it.

“You can ask me as well, my dear,” Aziraphale added. He doubted Crowley would but he couldn’t refrain from making the offer. The idea terrified him, but he meant it.

“I know.” Crowley pushed the issue aside as he moved his fingers to Aziraphale’s elbow, massaging the muscles there. “Now, would you care to explain what it is about the crepes here that is worth almost getting discorporated over? They were good, but not _that_ good.”

“Not that good!” Aziraphale pressed his free hand to his heart in mock outrage. “How dare you!”

Crowley just laughed.

* * *

[43] The prison Aziraphale had been locked up in was feeling rather confused at the moment, which was a very new feeling considering it was a prison. For some reason, that morning it had been the Bastille, which had originally been a different prison that had stopped existing two years earlier, but it had reverted back to its original status as soon as the angel and demon had left. If the humans had noticed, they would have been confused too, but they were all far too busy chopping people’s heads off with a giant head-chopping machine or worrying about having their own head was chopped off, so they were oblivious. [Return to text]

[44] Some of them were just doing their jobs, but as the humans would decide at Nuremberg, that wasn’t an excuse. Hell, for once, was ahead of the curve, and had decided that from the very beginning. [Return to text]

[45] Aziraphale wasn’t a person, though, and Crowley _did_ like doing nice things for him. Just not carrying tons of books by hand when either one of them could have moved the whole lot using a single miracle. [Return to text]


	14. Victorian England

**1862 AD – London, England**

Crowley cursed as he watched Aziraphale walk away. He’d hoped… well, it didn’t matter now. He’d rub his own leg, or maybe try shifting into a snake and then turning back if that didn’t work. If nothing helped, he’d sleep. He didn’t need Aziraphale to give him a massage. He didn’t need Aziraphale to give him holy water. He didn’t need Aziraphale.

The angel felt the same. Aziraphale clenched his gloves tightly as he stalked away, blinking back tears at the thought of Crowley getting his hands on holy water. It would destroy him, and Aziraphale wouldn’t be a part of that. He couldn’t. Crowley was, well, not _good_ , per se, but nice. Kind even, especially to Aziraphale, and Aziraphale didn’t care to contemplate life without him. He couldn’t imagine a future with no more nights drinking, no more friendly massages, no more Crowley.

With a start, he realized that if Crowley wasn’t going to be around, he had to be sure he wasn’t going to end up needing a massage. He couldn’t bear the thought of letting a human do it.

With effort, Aziraphale unclenched his hands and stretched his fingers so they wouldn’t cramp. He didn’t look back to see Crowley taking the same route from the park, limping slightly as he favored the leg he’d twisted while completing a temptation. Crowley didn’t look at Aziraphale either. He kept his eyes down, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other as he made his way home.


	15. The Blitz

**1941 AD – London, England**

Aziraphale stared at Crowley the entire ride back to the bookshop. The car was new since they’d last seen each other—since Aziraphale had thought he would never see Crowley again—but he couldn’t focus on it or on the frankly terrifying way Crowley drove.[46] Aziraphale was quite certain none of the other cars he’d seen had gone this fast,[47] especially when they had their headlights off during a blackout.

“Something the matter, angel?” Crowley winced as he shifted gears to take a corner, slowing just enough that the car made the turn without drifting into one of the nearby buildings. It came so close that any humans who had been looking out the window would have gotten a very clear view of the way Aziraphale’s hands curled around the handle of the bag holding his books, but fortunately no humans were looking out the window due to the blackout.

“How did you know where I was?” That was the part that stunned Aziraphale the most. He hadn’t seen nor heard from Crowley since that day in St. James park, yet somehow Crowley had known where he was and that he was going to be double-crossed.

“I hear things.” Crowley smiled wryly as he glanced over at Aziraphale. “My side has me working for the Germans.”

“You’ve been—”

“No! I’ve been double-crossing them. I give them just enough that they think I’m helping and I pass everything they give me onto the Allies.”

“But then how did you know I would be in trouble?” Aziraphale had been certain that Capitan Rose Montgomery—or, he supposed, Fraulein Greta Kleinschmidt—had worked for England. He wouldn’t have made any sort of deal with the Nazis otherwise.

“I overheard people talking about a bookseller they were going to double-cross over books of prophecy. It wasn’t hard to figure out from there.” Crowley grimaced as he maneuvered the car around another corner. His feet had to be hurting still from walking on consecrated ground—something else Aziraphale could hardly believe happened.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have believed me? Truly?

Aziraphale started to reply in the affirmative, but stopped when Crowley raised one eyebrow. “No,” he admitted with a sigh. “I probably would have thought you were trying to thwart me or something. I thought you were mad at me. I thought you’d left England.”

“Nah.” Crowley waved Aziraphale off with one hand as he turned the wheel with the other, sending them careening around another corner. Thankfully, they were close to the bookshop. “I took a nap. Woke up to a commendation for the first World War and instructions to help the Nazis in this one. Fortunately for me, they’re much eviler than I am. I just show my face here and there.”

“Why?”

“So I can keep tabs on what I’m claiming credit for. Besides, double-crossing them is fun.” Crowley grinned excitedly as he stopped the Bentley in the no-parking zone just outside the bookshop. His grin morphed into a grimace as the car rolled to a stop, and Aziraphale huffed in exasperation.

“Honestly, Crowley. Walking on consecrated ground?”

“So it’s my fault you were in a church? I had to go where you were to save you.”

Aziraphale pulled the bag of books closer to his chest. “And I appreciate that, but really, you should have thought!”

“ _I_ should have thought? Okay, right, that would have gone over well. ‘Sorry Aziraphale, had to let you get discorporated because I didn’t want to hurt my feet. Hope the paperwork didn’t take too long.’”

Aziraphale shook his head, but dropped the subject. “At least come inside for a drink. I have a few bottles of a lovely Château Laffite I’ve been saving.”

“Oh, well, how can I turn that down?” Crowley followed Aziraphale to the shop. By the time they got inside, he was dancing from foot to foot, like he had back in the church.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

Crowley didn’t stop moving. He headed straight toward the couch in the back of the shop, hissing with each step he took. “Hurts more now. Why does it hurt more now? I’m not on consecrated ground anymore. I don’t think I am. You didn’t consecrate the bookshop since I was here last, did you?”

“No.” Aziraphale expected that Heaven would not be happy with him if he had. There were rules about that sort of thing, and the bookshop wasn’t a place of worship. Well, it wasn’t a place of worship of _Her_ , at any rate. An argument could perhaps be made that books were worshiped here, but Aziraphale knew better than to make it. “Sit.” He moved the couch closer to Crowley with a snap, unable to watch the painful dance even a moment longer.

Crowley flopped onto the couch; there was no other way to describe it. He had started to sit and then just picked up his feet despite the fact that he hadn’t fully sat down yet. The result was an ungainly tumble that ended with Crowley mostly on his back, lying diagonally across the couch, his feet held in the air.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley squirmed around until he was more or less sitting as he usually did. He kept flexing his feet as he moved, as though it was more than just burned soles that bothered him, and Aziraphale wondered if healing burns was all he would have to do tonight. “Shoes off. Socks too.”

Crowley opened his mouth, shut it again, and took off his shoes and socks. “Anything else? Should I remove my jacket and hat too?”

“Only if you want.” Aziraphale beamed as he sat on the end of the couch and pulled one of Crowley's feet into his lap. The bottom was red and blistered and Aziraphale could see patches of fresh skin where blisters had popped while Crowley walked. It looked horribly painful and Aziraphale wasted no time in healing it.

Crowley hissed at the manhandling,[48] but relaxed when Aziraphale finished, leaving behind a smooth, human-looking foot. “Oh.”

Aziraphale took Crowley's other foot and repeated his actions. The demon tensed and hissed again as Aziraphale's careful touch couldn’t help but aggravate his raw skin, but when Aziraphale was done, Crowley relaxed fully, closing his eyes as he rolled his ankles and flexed and pointed his feet. They felt better, though now that the searing pain had ceased, his muscles were sore from the awkward dance he’d done in the church and the way he’d held his feet so he didn’t put too much pressure on them while driving.

“Thanks,” Crowley said, still rolling his ankles as he tried to stretch his calves without getting up. The couch was comfortable, and Aziraphale was sitting closer than he had on past occasions Crowley had found himself in the bookshop. It was… pleasant, which wasn’t something a demon was supposed to appreciate except in the exercise of a temptation, but Crowley did anyway.

Aziraphale watched the way Crowley rolled his ankles, the way he was stretching them every way he could manage in this shape, and frowned. “Are you still hurt?”

“Ehhh.” Crowley raised one shoulder in a half-shrug and wobbled his hand back and forth. “Not really. I’m sore.”

“Well, that’s what you get for spending five minutes dancing on consecrated ground.” Aziraphale chided gently as he curled his hands around one of Crowley's ankles and pulled it back into his lap. “Where?”

“Everywhere. Well, feet, ankles, calves. Even my knees a bit.” Crowley let his glasses slide down to the end of his nose and peered over them at Aziraphale. “Could you…?” He trailed off, unable to make himself ask for a massage despite what he’d told Aziraphale back in France. It wasn’t as easy as it should be, especially not now, not with eighty years of silence between them. Yes, they had gone longer between seeing each other in the past, but they had never parted truly upset with each other. Irritated, yes, but not truly angry. This felt fragile, and Crowley was loath to ask for anything even after saving Aziraphale. The wrong question could ruin things between them again, and Crowley feared that if it happened again it would be for good.

Aziraphale started on the bottom of Crowley's foot, cradling it between his hands and pressing his thumbs into the bottom. He worked his way up from heel to toe, moving his thumbs in easy circles, then down and back up again with short, straight strokes. He squeezed each of Crowley's toes between his fingers, rubbing them gently as he carefully tugged, first focusing on the top and bottom, then on the sides. He worked in silence with Crowley watching him intently, and as he moved back to the ball of Crowley's foot, rolling his knuckles in circles over it while holding Crowley's foot with his other hand, he looked up and met the demon’s eyes. “Better?”

“It’s great, angel.” Crowley took his sunglasses off and set them on the back of the couch as he leaned back against the arm. “Feels goo—Oh!” He gasped as Aziraphale pressed his knuckles into the arch. “There. Pl-Please.”

Aziraphale smiled as he pressed harder, rocking his hand from side to side and moving it in an arc as he worked to get every part of the arch of Crowley's foot. “Did you really sleep through the Great War?”

“If we’re going to talk about my nap, I need that wine you promised.” Crowley sat up straight and looked Aziraphale straight in the eyes. “I won’t have that discussion sober.”

Aziraphale didn’t really want to get drunk, just to enjoy some nice wine with the friend he had thought he’d never see again, but he would take this if it was what he could get. A snap summoned the bottle he’d mentioned, two glasses, and a corkscrew, and he set Crowley's foot in his lap long enough to open the bottle and pour. He handed a glass to Crowley and set his own aside. “We don’t have to talk about it. I just…” He stopped himself, not willing to admit how much he had worried the past eighty years, how much he’d chided himself for being the sort of angel that fretted over a demon’s well-being. “I wondered how it didn’t wake you up. The war was loud. I was under the impression that loud noises woke people up.”

“Humans, yeah. Animals too, I guess.” Crowley took a sip of his wine and settled back on the couch. “Demons… well, I think I’m the only one that sleeps, but I sleep until I decide to wake up, or if I’m in danger.”

“What if Hell contacts you?”

“That counts as being in danger, angel.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale took a large gulp of wine and started massaging Crowley's ankle. He worked his way slowly up from Crowley's heel, pinching the back of Crowley's foot between his fingers and moving upward with small circles. As he got to the calf, he continued the motion, holding Crowley's leg up with one hand and pinching Crowley’s calf between his fingers and palm with the other. He worked his way up to Crowley's knee in silence, but as he started back down, this time massaging slow circles with his knuckles, he said, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever slept.”

  
([Picture by CynSyn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912507)) 

“Not even when you’ve traveled with humans?”

“No. I’ve always read or prayed or simply laid still in the dark if doing anything would attract attention. It always seemed like a waste of time to me.”

“And lying still in the dark doing nothing isn’t?” Crowley arched one eyebrow as he looked at Aziraphale over the rim of his wineglass. “How does that work?”

“I can think while I lie in the dark, Crowley. I can’t do that when I’m asleep, can I?” He didn’t actually know for certain, as he had never tried it, but all accounts he’d read of sleeping led him to believe that he wouldn’t be able to use the time productively. Unlike mortal beings who apparently needed sleep to function, he never got tired, and therefore he’d never seen the need to do nothing at all for several hours.[49]

“Well…” Crowley drug the word out. “You can dream. If you practice, you can even control what you dream about. Even humans can do that, or so they claim, though I’d imagine it’s harder for them. Of course, if you lose control…” Crowley shuddered, but didn’t finish the sentence.

Aziraphale didn’t need him to. He got the drift immediately. For beings who could make literally anything happen if they simply believed in it enough or expended enough effort, the idea of losing control was terrifying. “No, thank you.” He moved to the top of Crowley's knee, carefully massaging the tendons around his kneecap before moving down the front of his leg.

“I usually just… shut off for a while.” Crowley had always worried that if he dreamed, Hell would find a way to talk to him through them, and the thought was enough to keep him from trying it. “It’s not productive, but I just tell the office that I’m engaging in sloth.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly as he switched to Crowley's other foot. “Well. I suppose that’s acceptable for a demon. I couldn’t possibly, though.”

“O’course not.” Crowley shook his head solemnly and slid a little further down on the couch as he relaxed into Aziraphale’s massage. It felt… well, the human words to describe such a feeling didn’t work at all for Crowley. He knew firsthand what ‘heavenly’ felt like, and this was much, much better. The way Aziraphale's hands moved so carefully over his feet, the care Aziraphale took as he worked the soreness out of Crowley's muscles, even the pinched look on Aziraphale face when Crowley teased him, they felt more than heavenly.

It felt like everything good in the word, all the cleverness and creativity and beauty and hope and joy—everything Crowley wasn’t supposed to feel, wasn’t supposed to want. He did, he had for far too long, and he knew it was why he always came back to Aziraphale, but this time, it wasn’t just what he felt when he looked at Aziraphale. It was what he saw reflected in Aziraphale's eyes, in his touch, in his smile. It was love.

Aziraphale looked over as he rolled his knuckles across the arch of Crowley's foot and smiled that full, beaming smile that lit up his face like the sun. “I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.”

Crowley, still reeling from the realization that he was feeling Aziraphale’s love, couldn’t be expected to reply coherently to that, especially since even on the best days, that smile did things to Crowley that no disrespectable demon would ever admit to.[50] “Ngk.”

* * *

[46] Honestly, the way Aziraphale simply stared at him during that first car ride gave Crowley the wrong impression. He had thought Aziraphale was impressed, and he was quite disappointed when Aziraphale spent the next eighty years panicking every time he dared drive fast in central London. [Return to text]

[47] A 1926 Bentley wasn’t capable of going that fast either, but since neither Aziraphale nor Crowley knew that, it did anyway. [Return to text]

[48] Well, man-shaped-being-handling, anyway, though that didn’t roll off the tongue nearly as easily. Demonhandling? Still awkward and didn’t apply to enough of Earth’s population to make it into the lexicon. Aziraphale loved language, but there were times when words were limiting. [Return to text]

[49] Or several decades. It didn’t really make that much of a difference to an immortal being. Compared to the amount of time Aziraphale had existed, a few decades was akin to a few hours for humans. [Return to text]

[50] Aziraphale knew it too. He’d used that smile—or rather, the promise of it—to his advantage many times over the centuries. It was always amusing to see the way Crowley preened and flushed under the full force of it. [Return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Be sure to go give CynSyn love on the artwork too!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912507)


	16. Raising the "Antichrist"

**2011 AD - London**

Crowley stalked through the Dowlings’ garden, a frown on her face and a hand pressed against her lower back as she searched for Aziraphale. When she found him, she marched over, stopped in front of him with her stance wide, and pointed the finger of her free hand at him. “You are _not_ doing your job.”

Aziraphale, who was currently doing exactly what his job description at the Dowlings’ entailed, looked from the mulch and soil on his gloved hands to the plants he was currently tending to Crowley and blinked. “I’m not?”

“I don’t mean _this_ job.” Crowley waved her hand irritably at Aziraphale and the garden. The garden looked, well, like it had been miracled into shape, honestly, because it had. It wasn’t as though any of the humans would notice. Most of them had no clue what the garden actually looked like unless they were concerned with the ambiance for a garden party, and then they only cared about the part closest to the house that could be easily decorated with hanging lanterns or fairy lights. They didn’t even notice the surplus of wildlife that made its home on the grounds of the Official London Residence of the American Ambassador and his family. Apparently, they thought this was normal for England.

_Americans_.

“You didn’t?” Aziraphale stood up and took off his gloves. “What did you mean then?”

“Your _real_ job.”

“I don’t have to perform blessings constantly, Crowley. You know that. How else would I have time to work here or run my bookshop?”

“That’s not what I mean, either!”

“It’s not?” Aziraphale asked. The twinkle in his eyes gave him away and Crowley hissed.

“You bastard!”

“I’m not a bastard, I’m an angel.” Aziraphale pressed the hand not holding his gloves to his chest. The smock he wore as Brother Francis was far from something one might call ‘nice,’ but old habits die hard and he had spent the past six thousand years doing everything he could to keep himself spotlessly clean. He hadn’t had to use a miracle to clean his clothes since before Christ was born. He wasn’t about to start again now.

Crowley rolled her eyes but didn’t argue the point. “Yes, fine. You’re still not doing the job you’re really here to do.”

“I’ve been teaching young Warlock to respect life on Earth every day!”

“Well, it isn’t taking.” Crowley hissed and shifted, trying to relieve the pressure in her lower back. “He’s a hellion.”

“Oh dear. That must be your influence.”

“I did _not_ influence him to leave his Lego bricks all over the floor and to throw himself out of my arms while I was carrying him!” Crowley huffed, rubbing at her lower back where she was certain she’d done something to it. “I have to convince him to destroy the world, not to annoy everyone with small nuisances.”

“The small nuisances does sound more like you,” Aziraphale pointed out rather smugly. “You think taking down the mobile phone network is first-rate evil.”

“It is!” Crowley would defend that one until Armageddon. So for another seven years if Aziraphale didn’t step up his game when it came to teaching the boy to love everyone. “It irritates everybody and they take it out on each other! Okay, it’s not genocide or violent crime, but it gets the job done. And it makes the humans do most of the work themselves! What could be better than that?”

Aziraphale made a soft noise that meant he agreed but he absolutely would not say so. Really, Crowley should have learned long ago to stop asking for approval on her nefarious deeds of the day. He could have said that he found absolutely everything other than the aforementioned genocide and violent crime to be better than tempting people to be mean to each other, but he refrained.

Crowley knew he was thinking it anyway, and pursed her lips. “At least teach him the virtues of tidiness, angel? Please?”

“What did he do?” Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sold on the virtues of tidiness himself. His bookshop was clean, but no one would describe it as tidy unless they were paid to do so.[51] Still, he could sometimes appreciate the quality in others, so he was open to the idea of teaching Warlock.

“Left his Lego bricks out last night.” Crowley rubbed her back again. Aziraphale frowned and snapped a garden bench into existence, and Crowley sank onto it gratefully, though she didn’t stop rubbing her back. “He had a nightmare. I was carrying him, trying to calm him down, and I stepped on the blessed thing with bare feet!”

“They’re just plastic pieces aren’t they?” Aziraphale, who only had a passing idea of Lego—or children’s toys in general—asked. “How bad could it be?”

“They’re _tiny_ pieces of plastic with sharp edges that dig into flesh,” Crowley corrected. Lego _had_ to be one of Hell’s, though he had trouble picturing who Downstairs had the imagination to come up with them. “They’re all different sizes, all small enough to hurt, and they’re unstable enough that if you step on them with shoes, you’re likely to fall, because they’ll move under your feet. Really, they should be a torture method in Hell. Maybe I’ll suggest it to Dagon. Maybe that’ll get me out of her bad books. Well, out of her _really_ bad books, anyway.”

Aziraphale blinked as he took in all that information. He opened his mouth, several questions on the tip of his tongue, but what came out was, “Why are you in Dagon’s really bad books?”

“The whole thing with Samson, remember? They were all Dagon’s worshipers and she blames me for Samson killing all of them.”

“Right.” Aziraphale nodded as he remembered. “Still?”

“Hell is good at holding grudges, angel.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale tugged on his smock like it was his familiar waistcoat and sat next to Crowley. “How did stepping on Lego bricks hurt your back? I would think it would hurt your feet.”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t really last long unless you keep walking on them.” Crowley rubbed at her back again. “I twisted when I stepped on the blessed thing so I wouldn’t drop Warlock. That startled him, and he started trying to throw himself out of my arms. I had to twist around just to keep him from falling!” She pulled her glasses down to look at Aziraphale over them and gave him the puppy-dog look he so often gave Crowley when things weren’t going his way. “I can’t do anything about it myself.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale eyed Crowley, wondering what the rest of the staff, not to mention Ambassador and Mrs. Dowling, would think if they saw him giving her a massage. It didn’t really matter, he supposed. He could make them forget, or if it was too much, he and Crowley could quit and come back as other household staff. “Yes, fine. Your room or mine?”

Crowley's answering grin was delightfully wicked one that promised all sorts of mischief. Aziraphale raised one eyebrow and Crowley sighed. “Yours will attract less attention.”

Aziraphale's rooms were in the servants’ wing, but as the nanny, Crowley slept in a room adjacent to Warlock’s so she could care for him at night too. Harriet Dowling would occasionally take care of Warlock during the day and he had tutors who gave him lessons and played outside under Aziraphale’s supervision, but the nights were all Crowley.

“Come on then,” Aziraphale stood and held out his hand to Crowley. The demon took it, letting Aziraphale help her to her feet, and straightened her skirts. As they walked away, Crowley's stride showing none of the pain she was feeling, Aziraphale snapped the bench out of existence.

When they reached Aziraphale's room, thankfully unseen by any of the staff (who were all horrible gossips), Aziraphale closed and locked the door before looking Crowley up and down. She was dressed to the nines in her full nanny outfit. It was a stunning look, but not one that would let her relax or make it easy for Aziraphale to give her a massage. “You, ah, might need to…” He trailed off, as Crowley had already started undressing.

“I’m not an idiot, angel,” Crowley said in response to Aziraphale's raised eyebrow. “There’s no way to give me a massage when I’m wearing all this.” She gestured up and down her body.

“I could… well, perhaps your hands,” Aziraphale protested as he busied himself tidying the bed he mussed every morning so people would think he slept there.[52]

“My hands aren’t what hurts, angel.” Crowley walked over to the bed. She’d removed her shoes, her jacket, her hat, and her scarf. “Should I take off the shirt too?”

Aziraphale eyed the starched shirt, tight pencil skirt, and nylons that comprised the rest of Crowley's nanny outfit and nodded. “Might be best to take it all off. Otherwise I’ll mess it up.” Either of them could fix it with a thought, of course, but it was the principle of the thing. They’d both know the wrinkles were there even if they were miracled away.

Crowley arched one eyebrow as she finished undressing with a snap, leaving only her undergarments on. “You know, the last time I was this undressed in someone else’s place, I was in the middle of a temptation.”

Aziraphale hummed skeptically. “I didn’t think you did that sort of temptation.”

“Oh, it wasn’t _that_ sort.” Crowley laughed as she crawled onto the bed and stretched out. “I’d tell you what it was, but I’d have to kill—er, discorporate—you.” She looked back over her shoulder and winked.

Aziraphale sputtered as he sat down next to Crowley and put a hand on the small of her back. “Here?” he asked as he gently pushed in with his fingers.

“A little to the right.” Crowley pillowed her head on her arms and closed her eyes. “There. Oh! Yeah. Right there.”

Aziraphale hummed and pushed harder on the spot Crowley had indicated, first with his fingers, then with the heel of his hand, and then with his knuckles. When the knot he felt there started to loosen, he widened his focus, moving his hand in widening circles around the area, then following the line of Crowley's muscles up and down her back. Her skin was warm and soft under his hands. “Is this all right?”

“Yesssss,” Crowley hissed as she peered down at Aziraphale through half-lidded eyes. “’s good.”

Aziraphale conjured a bottle of lotion, poured a small amount into his hands, and rubbed them together just enough to spread the lotion out. It let his fingers glide over Crowley's back as he moved his hands in long strokes between her shoulder blades and the small of her back, stretching out the muscles that were pulling tight and hurting her.

When those muscles were loose, Aziraphale returned to the small of Crowley's back, rolling his knuckles over the sore spot she had indicated and again moving out in widening circles before repeating the action on the other side. The muscles there were tight too, though not knotted like the side she’d complained of, and he poured more lotion on his hands as he worked out the tension there.

“How in the world did such a small child cause this?” Aziraphale asked as he moved back to the knot Crowley had first indicated. “This is worse than that time in Zoar when you hurt yourself trying to get away from the crowd.”

“He weighs more than you think, angel.”

“He couldn’t possibly.”

“When was the last time you picked him up?” Crowley arched one eyebrow as she looked at Aziraphale. “Trust me, he weighs enough, especially when he tries to throw himself out of my arms.”

Aziraphale had never needed to pick Warlock up, so he regarded Crowley dubiously. Still, he couldn’t argue with the fact that Crowley's back had been sore—he’d felt the knots in Crowley's muscles so he knew that the demon wasn’t faking for attention—and he had no reason to think Crowley would lie about what had caused it. “If you say so.”

“He weighs almost three stone, angel. When he’s flinging himself back and forth, it’s a lot. Not that I can’t handle him,” Crowley added quickly. She was stronger than any human, regardless of how she was presenting. “I would have been fine if I hadn’t been off balance due to that blessed Lego.”

“As you said, my dear.” Aziraphale slid his hands down further and started rolling his knuckles over Crowley's buttocks, massaging the muscles there too. They were tighter than he expected, which made sense given how Crowley had hurt her back, and he switched to pressing on them with his forearms as he worked out the initial kinks. When they’d relaxed as much as they could he went back to pinpointing the knots and worked at them with his knuckles and fingers. “Do you really think he’s being influenced too much toward evil? He’s so young. It’s hard to tell what he does and doesn’t understand.”

“I was annoyed with him, angel. He’s not any more evil—or good—than any of his little friends are.”

“Are you certain? We don’t want to mess this up.”

“As certain as I can be.” Crowley pushed herself up onto her elbows to better look at Aziraphale. “We have time, Aziraphale. We’re not going to mess this up.”

“I do hope you’re right.”

“I am.”

“Then you’d best lie back down so I can finish.”

Crowley grinned wickedly as she slid her arms forward and again pillowed her head on them. “Don’t let me stop you.”

* * *

[51] Scrupulous individuals wouldn’t even then. They would refuse the money and get out of the conversation as quickly as possible, because no one could honestly say that A.Z. Fell & Co was tidy. [Return to text]

[52] He spent six nights a week here, but reading in bed didn’t mess up the sheets the way sleeping did, particularly when the reader was an angel who was perfectly capable of not moving at all (or only moving enough to turn a page, in this case) for hours on end. [Return to text]


	17. The Night After The World Didn't End

**2018 AD – London**

Crowley pushed the door to his flat open, not bothering with the lock or the knob. He always expected that the door would open for him and him alone, so while anyone else would have trouble getting in—though not enough, as earlier events had proven—it always simply opened for him, even when he pushed it in the wrong direction, like he had when fleeing earlier. “Here we are.”

Aziraphale followed Crowley inside, his hands clasped behind his back as he had taken to doing when he needed to resist the urge to touch Crowley. They’d spent so much time together the past several years that Aziraphale had gotten in the habit so he wouldn’t ruin the plausible deniability of their meetings by being overly familiar with Crowley. If Heaven or Hell had seen them… well, it didn’t matter anymore. They were on their own side, for however long they had. And still, Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to unclasp his hands.

He looked at the statue by the door, the one with two winged beings in a rather… interesting pose and shuddered delicately. He wasn’t certain what the statue was supposed to convey but he knew he didn’t like it. Not that he would ever say so out loud and risk offending Crowley.

Crowley felt more than saw Aziraphale's shudder. His eyes were half-closed behind his sunglasses, but he was keeping Aziraphale close and it was impossible to miss despite Aziraphale's attempts at suppressing it. “It’s just for show, angel. Hell uses—used—the telly to contact me. Had to have something suitably evil where they could see.”

“I was wondering,” Aziraphale admitted as he turned away from the statue to take in the rest of the flat. “It’s very…” He paused, searching for a word to describe Crowley's flat that wasn’t offensive, then he saw a flash of green and immediately headed in that direction. When he found the plants, he paused, his hands pressed against his mouth as he slowly turned around the room. “Oh, Crowley. They’re lovely.”

“They had better be, if they know what’s good for them.” Crowley glared around the room at his plants, but he lacked the energy for his usual threats. The bus ride—or more accurately, everything that had preceded it—had left his head throbbing. He didn’t dare take off his sunglasses even in the dim light of the flat for fear that it would make his head hurt more. All he wanted was to get Aziraphale settled and then fall into bed and sleep until Hell dragged him away to kill him. It was a shame his last memory of Aziraphale would be tainted with a migraine, but it wouldn’t really matter once he was destroyed.

“I’m sure they do.” Aziraphale stroked a finger gently down one leaf, beaming as it folded a little in response to his touch. “They’re wonderful.”

It was the smile that Crowley usually lived for, the one that rivaled the sun for brightness and warmth, but at the moment it just made his headache worse. He squeezed his eyes shut and kept them closed for longer than Aziraphale's smiles usually lasted[53] then cautiously opened his eyes. The smile was gone, replaced by Aziraphale’s worried frown as the angel leaned in close.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Crowley tried to brush Aziraphale off. He just needed to show the angel the couch and hand him the book on astronomy,[54] and then he could go to bed and maybe, just maybe, his head would stop throbbing.

“You’re clearly not.” Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley's shoulders, steadying him. “You’re swaying and not really looking at me.” He tapped the arm of Crowley's glasses with one finger. “May I?”

“It’s too bright.” Crowley closed his eyes again just in case, but Aziraphale didn’t touch his glasses again.

After a long pause, Aziraphale said, “The lights aren’t on, Crowley.”

Crowley forced himself to focus. It took a moment, but then he could see Aziraphale was right. The only light in the flat was the ambient light from London, not from any of the overhead lights in the rooms. “Oh.” He dropped his head to his chest. Maybe if he just focused on the floor he could find his way to bed. Aziraphale could get himself settled.

Aziraphale stepped closer to Crowley and crouched down a little so he could look at Crowley through his sunglasses. “What’s wrong?”

There wasn’t any point in arguing, that much was clear. Aziraphale would figure it out and all denying it would accomplish was dragging out Crowley's pain, which was the second-to-last[55] thing he wanted. “Headache.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said so softly that it was almost impossible to hear. He snapped, wincing at the noise as he thought about how it would affect Crowley, and the windows in Crowley's flat darkened, blocking out the light that was bothering the demon so much. “Better?”

“The plants—” Crowley started but Aziraphale cut him off.

“They’ll be fine. I’ll fix it in the morning, or you can. They’re not getting any sunlight at the moment, anyway.” Aziraphale looked around, making sure there were no other sources of light to bother Crowley. “Now, where is your bedroom?”

“You don’t have to tuck me in, angel.”

“I thought perhaps I would try to help with that,” Aziraphale gestured at Crowley’s head. “Unless you’d rather I leave you alone? I don’t want to impose while you’re putting me up.”

Crowley stopped, turned toward Aziraphale, and risked pulling off his sunglasses so he could more effectively give Aziraphale a flat stare. “You think giving me a massage is _imposing_?”

Aziraphale straightened, lifting his chin and tugging on his waistcoat. “I don’t want to assume anything, Crowley. This morning you wanted to run away, and then you didn’t, but I said some horrible things to you while we were fighting and, well, it just doesn’t seem right to assume you want to have anything to do with me at the moment.”

“If I didn’t want to have anything to do with you, I wouldn’t have invited you over, Aziraphale. I don’t _have_ to let you stay here, I offered. I didn’t do that because I want to avoid you.”

“Right then. Where’s your bedroom? I assume you have one since you enjoy sleep so much, but a couch or chair will do if you don’t.”

“Of course I do.” Crowley led the way through the rotating wall into the office. The bedroom was on the other side, through the door that couldn’t be seen from the television. He stopped in his tracks as he realized it was the door Hastur and Ligur had found and he’d run out without cleaning up the mess. “Oh. Forgot about that.”

Aziraphale stopped right behind Crowley, just barely managing to not bump into him. “What is that?” He could feel the holy water, or at least, the blessing it had contained, but the mess wasn’t just holy water. There was something else there too, something infernal and wrong.

“Ligur,” Crowley said with a sigh. “Or what’s left of him.” He tilted his head to the side as he peered at the mess. It was mostly wet clothing and goop that used to be a demon, but there was red plastic mixed in as well. “And what’s left of the bucket I propped over the door.”

“You propped a bucket of holy water over the door?” Aziraphale cleaned up the mess with an angry snap as he whirled to face Crowley. “What if you’d forgotten it was there and opened the door? The water would have fallen on you!”

“I didn’t leave it there long, angel. Just when I knew Hastur and Ligur were on their way. Well, I knew Hastur was on his way. I assumed Ligur would be too—they’re usually together—but I had hoped it would get them both.” He looked up and met Aziraphale's worried gaze. “It was an insurance policy, angel, not a gag that I wasn’t taking seriously. If I hadn’t killed Ligur and trapped Hastur in the Ansaphone, I wouldn’t have made it to the airbase.”

Aziraphale deflated at that, all his righteous anger and worry gone. “Glad it worked then. Bedroom?”

Crowley eyed Aziraphale skeptically for a moment, but when his expression didn’t change, he led the way into the hallway, past the eagle lectern, and into the bedroom. The windows in here hadn’t changed in response to Aziraphale’s miracle earlier, but it didn’t matter because Crowley's blackout curtains were the best[56] on the market and not a bit of light got in, not even when the sun rose and managed to find that one angle that got through the tiniest gap in every other set of curtains. “Bedroom.”

“Lie down.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and was suddenly wearing a set of Heaven’s Dress tartan pajamas, his regular clothes folded neatly on the chest of drawers. It was empty as Crowley generally materialized his clothes from the ether, but the sort of human he fancied himself to be would have liked the sleek dark chest of drawers, and so there it stood.

Crowley stared at the bed as he tried to determine whether he had the energy to summon pajamas or if he just wanted to collapse on the bed fully dressed. He was still covered in soot and he really didn’t want to get it on his silk sheets, but he didn’t think he had another miracle in him at the moment, which meant he really didn’t have a choice.

He debated long enough that Aziraphale stepped up beside him, gave him a once-over, and snapped his fingers. Crowley found himself wearing black silk pajamas just like the ones he usually wore, and when he ran his fingers through his hair, he found it clean and soot-free. “Thanks.”

He stumbled the last few steps to the bed and slipped under the covers. He wanted to burrow deep, to bury his face in his pillow and pull the duvet over his head, but Aziraphale climbed in the other side and gently urged Crowley to scoot down until Aziraphale was sitting cross-legged against the headboard with Crowley's head pillowed in his lap. Aziraphale's ridiculous tartan pajamas were sinfully soft under Crowley's head, and if it hadn’t felt like imps had decided to start a rock band inside his skull, Crowley would have been enjoying every second of it. As it was, he just closed his eyes and hoped that he could fall asleep soon.

Aziraphale put one finger in the middle of Crowley's forehead and started lightly moving it in a circle, then another finger joined it and he started working his way out to Crowley's temples. “Is this all right?”

“It’s fine.”

“You’ll tell me if it isn’t.”

“Of course.” It was a command, not a question, but Crowley murmured the affirmative anyway. Aziraphale would fret—or worse, stop—if he didn’t, and Crowley didn’t have the energy at the moment to explain that there was nothing Aziraphale could do that he wouldn’t be okay with.

Aziraphale widened the circles he was making with his fingers as he worked his way back from Crowley's temples to the center of his forehead, then moved down Crowley's nose in small circles. He slid his fingers out along Crowley's cheekbones to his temples once, twice, a third time, then worked his way back to the center by gently pinching along the lines of Crowley's eyebrows.

Crowley found himself relaxing and drifting in the love and care he could feel pouring off Aziraphale. His head still throbbed, but each movement of Aziraphale's hands made it hurt just a tiny bit less. He moaned as Aziraphale's fingers moved back along his brow line to gently pinch his temples. “Oh.”

Aziraphale hummed agreement as he wiggled his index finger and thumb, further loosening the tense muscles there before letting go and gently rolling his knuckles over the area. He slid them down further, following Crowley's jawline, still moving his knuckles in circles until he found a knot. He pressed harder there, wiggling his knuckle slightly as he urged it to loosen. When he found the third knot, he tutted softly. “How long have you been clenching your jaw?”

“It’s been a stressful day, angel,” Crowley protested while moving his mouth as little as possible. He didn’t want to undo the work Aziraphale had accomplished. “A stressful week. Heaven, a stressful eleven years.”

“True.” They had been through quite a bit, especially recently, but they’d come through it. “Perhaps the next eleven won’t be so bad.”

“Assuming we get another eleven years,” Crowley pointed out, opening his eyes to look balefully up at Aziraphale. “I’m not convinced we will.”

“Of course we will.” Aziraphale moved his hands to cup Crowley's jaw and leaned over to look him straight in the eyes. “We’ll figure out what Agnes’s prophecy meant. I promise.” Then, before he could think too hard about it, he leaned over further and pressed a kiss to Crowley's forehead.

Crowley froze, rewinding what had just happened in his head to be certain he hadn’t imagined it. No, if he’d imagined Aziraphale kissing him, his head wouldn’t be throbbing. And if he’d hallucinated it thanks to his migraine, it wouldn’t have been a gentle kiss on his forehead with impossibly soft lips. He wouldn’t have hallucinated the sudden chill he felt when Aziraphale pulled back. It had been real and, well, not enough. Before he could think about it too much, he reached up and guided Aziraphale down for another kiss, this one on their lips.

It was still short and mostly chaste, but the feeling of Aziraphale's lips against his was sublime. It made Crowley feel like he was floating on a cloud, like his headache was seconds away from dissipating, like they would survive whatever Heaven and Hell decided to throw at them. It was exactly as good as he’d imagined it, even upside down, and he grinned widely as they broke apart.

Aziraphale pulled back, blinking at Crowley as his brain caught up with the rest of him. “Oh,” he said, smiling so brightly that Crowley had to close his eyes or his headache would have discorporated him. “I wasn’t sure if you would want that.”

“Of course I do, angel.” Crowley said as he opened his eyes again. “I love you.”

Aziraphale's smile literally lit up the entire room. “Oh.” Aziraphale stroked his hand over Crowley's cheek. “I love you too. But that isn’t what I meant.”

“I know.” Crowley took Aziraphale's hands in his and guided them back to his jaw. He wanted to kiss Aziraphale again and again, but more than that, he wanted his head to stop hurting. “I haven’t tried more than that—don’t want to—but the kissing bit can be nice.”

Aziraphale chuckled as he started massaging the muscles under Crowley's jaw. He pressed with his knuckles, rolling them in slow circles as he moved his hands forward and back between Crowley's chin and his throat. “Only you would describe that as simply _nice_.”

“I’m sure you have a list of synonyms that would make Will Shakespeare proud, but I don’t care about being erudite, especially not now.”

“Yes, of course. Your headache. I am sorry, my dear.”

Crowley opened his mouth to protest that Aziraphale didn’t need to be sorry, he was trying to help, but Aziraphale pushed it closed to focus on the muscles below Crowley's jaw before he got a word out. Crowley glared, but there was no bite behind it, and it didn’t last long, as Aziraphale moved his hands around to the back of Crowley's head and pressed his fingers in at the base of his skull.

That was the spot, Crowley thought as Aziraphale lifted his head, fully supporting it with two fingers as he stretched Crowley's neck a little. When Aziraphale set his head down, Crowley made a noise that might have been called a whimper[57] and frowned. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m not.” Aziraphale worked his way up Crowley's head, pressing with the pads of his fingers and then pulling back just a little and lightly scratching as he massaged Crowley's scalp. Just as the fingers at the base of his skull had relieved the pressure building in his head, the scalp massage relieved the tightness there.

It wasn’t long before Crowley was floating blissfully as the massage turned into a gentle scratch and then into Aziraphale playing with his hair. It felt nice, soothing in a way Crowley hadn’t felt in a long time, and it banished the last of his headache as it lulled him toward sleep.

He was almost out when Aziraphale stopped in the middle of twirling Crowley's hair around his fingers and softly said, “I think I know what Agnes’s prophecy meant.”

“Can you tell me in the morning?” Crowley lifted his head enough to pull his hair free of Aziraphale's loose grip and started tugging on the angel, urging him to scoot down to lie properly in the bed.

Aziraphale slid down until he was lying on his back next to Crowley and tugged Crowley close. Crowley laid his head on Aziraphale’s chest and Aziraphale immediately started playing with his hair again. “I don’t know if we should wait.”

“They’re not going to come tonight,” Crowley said as he shifted around to get comfortable. Lying pressed against Aziraphale like this was a dream come true, and if he was only going to get it for one night, he was going to make it perfect. “They have to get all the angels and demons to stand down. That doesn’t happen instantly.”

“I suppose.” Aziraphale twirled a lock of Crowley's hair around one finger. “I’m just worried.”

Crowley closed his eyes and focused on the moment, on the way Aziraphale fingers felt in his hair and how warm Aziraphale was pressed against him and how comfortable it was to lie with his head on Aziraphale's chest, burning every sensation into his memory. When he was certain he had it, he opened his eyes and said, “Tell me, then.”

Aziraphale smiled, though Crowley couldn’t see it. “She said we had to choose our faces wisely. I don’t think they can make me Fall or they would have done so already, so they’ll use Hellfire on me. It’s the only thing that can destroy an angel.”

“And Hell will use holy water on me, especially after what I did to Ligur. I already knew that.”

“Yes, but my point is that Hellfire won’t hurt you and holy water won’t harm me. If we choose our faces wisely, they’ll take me to Hell to punish in your place and take you to Heaven to punish in mine.”

Crowley lifted his head from Aziraphale's chest and rested his chin there instead, looking Aziraphale straight in the eyes. “You want to swap bodies.”

It was a question despite his flat, skeptical tone, and Aziraphale caught it immediately. “Yes. We’ll pretend to be each other. Act like each other, sound like each other, look like each other. We’ve known each other long enough to pull it off once we swap the physical bodies around. Our superiors will think we’re immune to their punishments.”

“That… might work, I guess.” Crowley didn’t like it. He remembered Heaven—many of the Fallen claimed they didn’t, but losing something that couldn’t be remembered wasn’t much of a punishment—and he had no desire to go back, even temporarily. “But if they catch us—”

“They’ll kill us, which they will do anyway if we don’t swap. At least this way we have a chance.” Aziraphale didn’t relish the idea of going to Hell and he hated the thought of sending Crowley to Heaven even more, but he couldn’t think of anything else Agnes could have meant by her last prophecy. “Do you have any other ideas?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale the same way he had in the diner on their way back from Tadfield on Thursday when Aziraphale asked him that exact question. He didn’t, but the thought of going to Heaven, the thought of sending Aziraphale to Hell in his place… it was too much. He wasn’t sure he could do it, and if he messed up, they’d both die.

He would regret it for the rest of his life if that happened, though he supposed the good news was that the rest of his life would be incredibly short at that point. “No, but—”

“We have to try, dear. I can’t—no, I _won’t_ —let them take you from me now. We have to survive, and this is our only chance.” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley and looked him straight in the eyes. “ _Please_.”

How could Crowley resist that? It was as though Aziraphale had combined the power of every pleading expression he’d ever given Crowley, and Crowley was powerless to resist. (He was always powerless to resist when it was Aziraphale doing the asking.) He sighed, briefly closing his eyes as he wondered what he had gotten himself into, and slithered up so he could rest his forehead against Aziraphale's.

“Fine. In the morning.” He wanted to enjoy what was left of the night, just in case it was the last one he had. If he died when Hell—er, Heaven—came, he would at least have had this.

“All right. In the morning.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley gently and guided him back down so he could rest his head on Aziraphale's chest. He settled in easily, his ear over Aziraphale's heart and an arm and a leg thrown over the angel to make sure he didn’t slip away before dawn. As Crowley closed his eyes, Aziraphale ran his fingers through his hair again, soothing him with a gentle touch and lulling him to sleep far more quickly than he would have liked.

  
(Picture by GottaGoBuyCheese)

His last thought as he drifted off was that if this was the last night they got, it was perfect.[58]

* * *

[53] Yes, he knew how long that was. He’d spent six thousand years trying to get those smiles. There was absolutely nothing he didn’t know about them. [Return to text]

[54] Not Aziraphale's usual reading choice, but Crowley knew for a fact that Aziraphale would read anything in a pinch and a book on astronomy would rank higher than some of the other things he’d read over the centuries. [Return to text]

[55] The last thing Crowley wanted was for Heaven & Hell to show up and drag them off for their respective punishments. He could deal with the headache, but only if it meant avoiding that. [Return to text]

[56] But _not_ least expensive. Not by a long shot. Actually, they were the most expensive on the market, not that money mattered at all to Crowley. [Return to text]

[57] Only by someone who didn’t value their wellbeing. [Return to text]

[58] It wasn’t the last night they got, of course, but it was still perfect. [Return to text]


	18. Retirement

**2020 AD – Devils Dyke**

“This is why I keep my feathers groomed!” Crowley called out as he bent into a dive and raced ahead of Aziraphale.

Aziraphale huffed, tucked in his own wings and dove after Crowley. “It doesn’t make _that_ much of a difference.” They shouldn’t have been able to hear each other with the way the air rushed by them and the distance between them, especially since they weren’t speaking any louder than usual, but that fact hadn’t occurred to either of them, so they could.[59]

“Nicely groomed wings are more aerodynamic.” Crowley took a sharp turn, flapping his wings as he flew up over the hills that lined Devils Dyke. He caught a wind current near the top and let it carry him along as he waited for Aziraphale to catch up.

It didn’t take long. Aziraphale was soon gliding next to him, one eyebrow arched as he eyed Crowley's black wings. “They won’t be well-groomed by the time we get home.” It was meant to be playfully scolding, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile as he called the cottage they shared “home.” They’d only lived in the South Downs a few months, barely a blink when compared to the rest of their lives, but they’d bought a place together. Just thinking about it made Aziraphale giddy.

“So I’ll groom them. And I’ll be done in half the time it’ll take you to get yours sorted out.”

Yes Aziraphale’s wings were—as was typical of angels—a mess, but he really saw no need to groom them as often as Crowley did. He did what needed to be done to keep them healthy and so he could fly if he needed to, but doing anything beyond that was prideful, and angels were not, as a rule, full of pride.[60]

“I could groom them for you, if you’d like.” Aziraphale said it without thinking, but upon reflection, he found that he desperately wanted to be allowed to do that. He wanted to bury his fingers in Crowley's feathers and feel how smooth they were, wanted to touch the sensitive undersides of Crowley's wings, wanted to play with the downy fluff where they met his back. The idea was so intoxicating he could hardly believe it hadn’t occurred to him before.

Crowley froze mid-flap and promptly fell a few dozen feet. He caught himself with a yelp he would deny making until the literal end of time and flew up to Aziraphale with a few strong flaps of his wings. The paragliders nearby glanced over, but as the miracle that kept them from seeing Aziraphale and Crowley as two winged beings made them see two paragliders instead, they didn’t see anything amiss.[62]

“You—” Crowley started when he’d rejoined Aziraphale. He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the… whatever it was that had just shown up in his throat at the idea of Aziraphale grooming his wings. “You would… do that?”

“If you’ll let me,” Aziraphale said. He wished very much that Crowley would let him, even if he had to groom them to the perfection Crowley desired, but he knew that Crowley might not like being that vulnerable, even around him. Two years of freedom didn’t erase six thousand years of being overly cautious, after all.

Crowley turned and looked up and down Aziraphale's wings. “Only if you let me groom yours.”

It wasn’t a hard bargain. Aziraphale thought the idea of having Crowley's fingers in his wings was almost as delightful as the idea of burying his own hands in Crowley's feathers. He could only imagine how delightful it would feel—had imagined it, as a matter of fact, just about every time he’d groomed his own wings over the past few centuries. The idea of finally getting to experience it for real was almost overwhelming.

Somehow, he managed to reign in his excitement and feign nonchalance.[63] “I suppose that’s only fair.” Crowley had been teasing him about the state of his wings for centuries, but he’d never offered to fix them. Before, it would have crossed some invisible boundary they both honored but never discussed—wing grooming was far more intimate than the massages they’d been trading since the Ark—but now, those boundaries didn’t matter.

Aziraphale _really_ wanted to get home.

“Race you back,” he said, then took off without waiting for a response.

Crowley made a strangled noise in his throat as he flapped his wings hard, seeking the advantage of height instead of heading straight toward the cottage. Aziraphale glanced back, saw Crowley climbing at an angle, and immediately tucked his wings in for a dive. Crowley followed suit, picking up speed faster due to the advantage of altitude. He gained on Aziraphale the whole way down, pulling all six limbs in tighter as he tried to gain the tiniest advantage.

Aziraphale followed suit, but angled himself slightly so he would bump into Crowley as the demon passed him. His plan worked, throwing Crowley off-balance and slowing him just a little, but then Crowley grabbed Aziraphale, wrapping him in arms and legs as he spread his wings to slow them both. As he pulled them out of the dive, Aziraphale spread his own wings again, flapping them in time with Crowley's as they climbed slightly in the sky above their cottage, but didn’t otherwise try to untangle himself from Crowley.

“In a hurry?” Crowley asked, amused, as he turned them slowly in the air. “We have all the time in the world, you know.”

“That doesn’t mean we ought to waste it,” Aziraphale said, or rather, started to say. Crowley cut him off with a kiss halfway through the sentence and by the time he pulled back, Aziraphale couldn’t remember what he was going to say or why he had felt the need to argue with… whatever Crowley had said.

Crowley cackled and dove, jackknifing in the air and speeding down headfirst, his wings tucked in close to his back. Aziraphale followed suit, and they pulled up at the same moment, tumbling into the garden in a tangle of arms, legs, and wings that ended with Aziraphale flat on his back and Crowley sprawled across him. Crowley lifted his head and beamed down at Aziraphale. “I win.”

“You most certainly do not.” Aziraphale huffed indignantly as he pushed Crowley off and sat up. “You cheated.”

Crowley rolled onto his back and lay spread-eagle, his wings stretching halfway across the garden. “So?”

“You are absolutely incorrigible. What will the neighbors say?”

“Nothing! How could they possibly know?

Aziraphale stood up, tugged down his waistcoat, and straightened his bowtie. “They could have seen your antics.”

“Even if they did, they saw me paragliding, not flying.” Though Crowley did wonder what the sort of antics they just pulled looked like when viewed through the lens of their miracle. It had to be… interesting, to say the least.

“Well, then I hope they don’t come over and accuse us of being unsafe.” Aziraphale stood over Crowley and held out his hand.

Crowley let Aziraphale pull him to his feet then snapped his fingers to take care of the potential issue. “They won’t.”

“You can’t just modify their thoughts, Crowley!”

“I didn’t!” At Aziraphale's dubious look, he pulled off his sunglasses and looked Aziraphale straight in the eyes. “Would I lie to you?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. It was still instinctive to spout the company line—6,000 years of indoctrination was hard to get past—but he knew it was wrong. “No.” He had a quick mental debate about whether he really wanted to know the answer, sighed, and asked, “What did you do, then?”

“Put a…” Crowley waved his hand vaguely, “trigger, I guess, on the edge of our property. Anyone who comes over for the next few days will remember urgent business elsewhere. By the time anyone actually manages to talk to us, they’ll have forgotten all about it.”

“And there’s no risk they’ll bother us while our wings are out.” Aziraphale brightened at the thought. “We’re guaranteed the time to ourselves. How lovely. Thank you, my dear.”

Crowley brushed off the praise as he usually did. “Don’t make a fuss about it, angel.” He shook out his wings, straightening the worst of the overlapping feathers, and took Aziraphale's hand, tugging him toward the cottage. They wouldn’t be disturbed by the neighbors, but it was silly to stand outside with their wings out. The miracle that made anyone who saw them fly think they were paragliding wouldn’t properly disguise their wings while they stood in their own back garden.

It took a bit of maneuvering to get through the door,[64] but once they were inside, they both spread their wings again, the tips just brushing the bookcases that lined the walls.[65] Crowley folded his in first and eyed Aziraphale's speculatively as he tried to decide where to best groom them. When he groomed his own wings, he usually stood between two mirrors so he could see every feather, but that got uncomfortable and wasn’t necessary for grooming someone else. The couch would be awkward, a chair would be uncomfortable, the floor would be hard on their buttocks[66] after a while…

Bed it was, then.

Crowley had insisted on a luxuriously large bed despite the fact that he could sleep literally anywhere and Aziraphale rarely slept. It was sinfully comfortable, enough that he rarely found himself sleeping on the walls or ceiling anymore, and on the rare occasions when Aziraphale curled up in it with him, it was absolute bliss.

Crowley snapped his fingers as he entered the bedroom, adding several pillows to the bed, then indicated it with a sweeping gesture. “After you.”

Aziraphale didn’t need to be told twice. He made a pleased sound as he took in the extra pillows, then crossed the room with long strides, toed off his shoes, and let himself fall face first onto the duvet. He spread his wings as he landed, splaying them out along the length of the bed, and wiggled up until only his toes were hanging off the bed and his arms were wrapped around one of the pillows Crowley had manifested. He rested his head on it and looked back at Crowley with pleading eyes.

Crowley watched with amusement as Aziraphale shuffled around, but as soon as he got that look, he climbed onto the bed next to Aziraphale and buried his fingers in the angel’s wings. He took a moment to luxuriate in the soft feel of Aziraphale's feathers,[67] then carefully arranged one of Aziraphale's wings on his lap and started straightening the feathers where they emerged from the angel’s back.

Aziraphale sighed happily as Crowley worked, wiggling closer to him until he was pressed against Crowley's legs, reveling in the warmth of their bodies pressed together. He loved this, loved the freedom to touch Crowley—and to be touched _by_ Crowley—without fear. He loved the way Crowley leaned into him when they touched, loved the soft melody Crowley hummed as he carefully arranged Aziraphale feathers.

The whole experience was so overwhelmingly wonderful that Aziraphale couldn’t help but curl up a little so he could smile at Crowley as the demon carefully straightened the feathers on his wing. “I love you,” he said as he reached out to run his fingers through the feathers on the end of Crowley's wing.

Crowley blushed, just as he did every time Aziraphale said that. He’d been in love with Aziraphale for as long as he could remember and had known Aziraphale loved him back for a very long time, but even after two years, it was still new and overwhelming to hear it out loud. He focused harder on grooming Aziraphale's wing, willing the blush to subside, but the feel of Aziraphale's fingers running through his feathers was his undoing, and he leaned forward, careful not to put uncomfortable pressure on Aziraphale's wing, and kissed him.

When they broke apart, Aziraphale lifted his wing and tucked Crowley under it, pulling him down for a much longer kiss. There were advantages to not needing to breathe.

It was Crowley who finally pulled back, a rueful expression on his face and a faint blush still coloring his cheeks. “I’m supposed to be grooming your wings.” He brought one of his wings around where he could see it and frowned at the mess of feathers. “And then you’re supposed to groom mine.”

Aziraphale laughed, but didn’t let Crowley go. His feathers were a mess and he would let Crowley fix them eventually, but at the moment he was far more interested in holding Crowley close and relishing the moment. He looped an arm under both their wings to pull Crowley closer. “In a moment, dearest.”

Crowley squirmed until he was more on his side than his belly, his wings hanging off the foot of the bed as he lay nose-to-nose with Aziraphale. “I’ll just groom them from here,” he said as he slid his fingers into the feathers along the top of Aziraphale's wing. His grip was firmer now, probably because of the angle, and instead of just straightening Aziraphale's feathers, Crowley was practically massaging the top of Aziraphale's wing.

It had never occurred to either of them to try _that_ before, and as Crowley's fingers hit a sensitive spot, Aziraphale didn’t even try to hold back his moan of pleasure. Crowley froze, afraid he’d hurt Aziraphale, but Aziraphale ignored it and pushed his wing into Crowley's hand. “ _Oh_. Do-do that again. _Please_.”

“This?” Crowley carefully slid his fingers along the top of Aziraphale's wing, gently pressing down into the tight muscles there. He felt a knot before Aziraphale could answer, and immediately realized what Aziraphale had meant. “Oh! Why didn’t we think of this before?” He scrambled to sit up and get into a better position, and this time Aziraphale didn’t try to stop him.

“I don’t know, but—”

“Of course. You should—”

“No, we need—”

“I don’t want—”

“Ah, yes, of course. What if you were—”

“Right. That’ll work. Should we…?”

Aziraphale wrinkled his brow, as Crowley trailed off, not quite following. Crowley gestured to his torso, raised one eyebrow, patiently waiting for Aziraphale to get it. It only took a moment.

“Oh! Yes, of course.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and suddenly they were both shirtless, clad only in pajama bottoms—black silk for Crowley and soft cotton tartan for Aziraphale. It was much more comfortable than the clothing they’d been wearing—their usual outfits that hadn’t changed for several years.[68]

It took a bit more maneuvering after that, but they ended up with Crowley leaning against the headboard of the bed close to one edge, and Aziraphale lying diagonally across his lap with his head by Crowley's hip and his wings stretched out across the bed. Crowley's wings were spread too, one fanned out along the headboard and the other hanging off the side of the bed by Aziraphale's head, brushing against his fingers as he reached out.

Crowley slid his hand along the top of Aziraphale's wing, pinching it between his fingers and palm as he felt for knots. When he got as far as he could without one of them moving, he slid his hands back to the spot where the wing joined his back, snapped his fingers, and a bottle of wing oil[69] appeared on the nightstand, just within reach. He slid his hands up and down Aziraphale's back, spreading the oil, then started at Aziraphale's shoulders and worked his way down, pressing with the heel of his hands as he encouraged Aziraphale's muscles to relax, working the muscles that controlled the wings as much as the ones in the wings themselves.

Aziraphale melted under Crowley's touch, leaning into it at first but gradually letting his muscles completely relax until he looked as boneless as a cat where he draped across Crowley. He made a soft, pleased noise as Crowley worked his way out onto Aziraphale's wing, alternating between gentle scratches with his nails and small circles with the pads of his fingers as he moved along the lines of the feathers, slipping his fingers between them as he worked the muscles underneath. Aziraphale hadn’t realized how tight the muscles of his wings had been until Crowley started, but as Crowley massaged the knots out of his muscles, he wondered how he’d even been able to fly.[71]

Aziraphale sighed happily, basking in the feel of Crowley's fingers on his back, in the care and love that Crowley put into every movement, every touch. He was so meticulous, so careful, his touch a benediction on every every part of Aziraphale he could reach. When he’d again covered all of Aziraphale's wings that he could reach, he switched to combing his fingers through the feathers, again using one hand on each side and mirroring the movements. By the time he reached the base of Aziraphale's wings and slid his hands up and down his back again, Aziraphale wasn’t sure he could move if God Herself showed up.

He managed to roll just enough that he could see his unkempt wings, then grinned up at Crowley. “I was under the impression you were going to groom them, my dear. They look worse than they did when we came inside.”

Crowley made an annoyed face, but it was belied by the gentle look in his eyes. “I thought you were going to groom my wings too.”

“Who says I’m not?”

“You don’t look like you’re planning to move any time soon.”

He wasn’t, of course, but as an angel, he was far more enticed by a challenge than by sloth, so he shook out his wings and used them for leverage as he rose to his knees. “There. I moved. Now budge down so I can get at your wings.”

Crowley had known that was exactly how Aziraphale would respond (and Aziraphale had known that he knew it, but that was part of the fun), and he grinned as he scooted down the bed and let Aziraphale take his place leaning against the headboard. It took them much less time to get situated—there was an advantage to already figuring out the best position—and he smiled down at Crowley as he buried his fingers in Crowley's feathers.

Crowley's wings had started off neater than Aziraphale's, but as Aziraphale worked his fingers through the feathers, massaging the muscles underneath, Crowley's started to resemble the angel's in everything but color. He moaned as Aziraphale found a knot, pressing his wing up against Aziraphale's finger in a plea for more. Aziraphale chuckled, steadying the wing with one hand as he worked the knot with the other. “Relax.”

“I am.” Crowley was, though he didn’t look it, with one knee pulled up toward his chest and one arm hanging off the bed as he played with Aziraphale's feathers.[72] His muscles relaxed as Aziraphale started massaging his back, using the oil Crowley had left on the nightstand to let his fingers glide over Crowley's skin as he worked at the knots he found there.

By the time Aziraphale was done, the setting sun shone in through the window, playing off Crowley's copper hair to make it look like his head was wreathed in a halo of flame. The light also illuminated the purples and greens in the deep black of Crowley's feathers, giving them the iridescence of an oil slick instead of the matte black they appeared in the shadows. Aziraphale had known there was more color to them, of course, but to see it like this, to see Crowley like this, made him fall in love all over again.

He couldn’t decide if he wanted to run his fingers through Crowley's hair or his feathers, so he chose to do both as he leaned down and kissed Crowley on the sigil just in front of his ear. Aziraphale had removed Crowley's glasses along with the rest of his clothes when he’d changed them earlier, so when Crowley opened one eye to look up at him, it was easy to see the love shining in his gaze.

Crowley rolled a little to better look up at Aziraphale, though not far enough that Aziraphale had to stop running his fingers through either hair or feathers. He pressed a kiss to the inside of Aziraphale's wrist and smiled as the stroking faltered for the tiniest moment. “I love you.”

Aziraphale beamed, his entire face lighting up as he smiled down at Crowley. “And I love you.” He was still smiling as he cast a rueful glance at their wings. “I’m afraid we didn’t do a very good job of grooming our wings.”

“Mmm,” Crowley agreed, grinning as he took in their disheveled feathers and the bits of down that had worked loose and were floating around the room. “Perhaps we should try again.” His smile broadened as Aziraphale's stomach grumbled. “After dinner?”

And that, right there, was why Aziraphale loved Crowley. Well, that and a million other reasons that he would never have time to list, even though he had eternity. Crowley was always willing—no eager—to indulge him, and he did so adore being indulged. “We would have to change. The restaurants here may not be the same quality as the ones in London, but I do believe they have rules about shirts and shoes. Unless your goal was to scandalize everyone in town?” he added, one eyebrow raised and his eyes sparkling.

And that, right there, was why Crowley loved Aziraphale. Well, that and a million other reasons that he would never have time to list, even though he had eternity. Aziraphale was always willing—no eager—to be just a bit of a bastard, and Crowley did so adore seeing it. “If I’m going to scandalize the neighbors, it’ll be for more than walking shirtless into a pub. We can order in. That’ll give us more time to fix our wings.”

They both knew that fixing their wings wasn’t really going to happen tonight, but it didn’t matter. They could groom them in the morning, or the next day, or sometime next week. And they could mess them up again playing in the sky, or giving each other wing massages, or just curling up together in front of a fire. They could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted.

And they would. Together.

[59] Angels and demons weren’t bound by the laws of physics, after all, though this was more a case of reality warping to suit their expectations than them deliberately breaking those laws. [Return to text]

[60] At least, that was what most of the angels, Aziraphale included, told themselves. Otherwise, not taking care of their wings would be sloth, and that was just as bad as pride. Their wings were part of their bodies, there was no need to primp and preen them until they were absolutely perfect.[61] [Return to text]

[61] Irony was something that escaped most angels, including Aziraphale in this instance. He would insist that the clothes he wore were not for pride or vanity, but if Crowley heard that, he would point out Aziraphale had been locked in the Bastille because he simply had to wear fancy clothes in the middle of a revolution. [Return to text]

[62] One of them could have sworn the skinny guy in black had gained a significant amount of altitude, but she thought it must have been a large updraft as that was the only thing she could think of that would let him gain that much altitude that quickly. She made a mental note of the area—to avoid on future paragliding trips, of course, and definitely _not_ to test to see if unusually strong updrafts were common there. [Return to text]

[63] It was a spectacularly unsuccessful attempt, though not through any fault of Aziraphale's. It probably would have worked with anyone else, but Crowley had known him for far too long to fall for that. [Return to text]

[64] Wings and doorways did not mix well as a rule. If they’d been living in the cottage longer, the door likely would have stretched to accommodate their wings out of politeness, but it didn’t know them as well as Crowley's Mayfair flat and Aziraphale's bookshop did, so the idea didn’t occur to it until they were already through. It promised itself it would next time, if only to assure it never again received the dark look Crowley gave when his right wing caught on the doorframe. A lesser door, one that hadn’t just been smiled at by Aziraphale as the angel walked through, would have collapsed in terror. [Return to text]

[65] They were not in the library—that was at the front of the house—but the only room in the house that didn’t have at least a few bookcases was the kitchen. Even it had one shelf dedicated to cookbooks, though Crowley had drawn the line at that since neither of them had yet learned how to cook. [Return to text]

[66] In a completely different way than horses were hard on them. It really was remarkable how many things could be so hard on the human body. Or on the human-shaped body, at any rate. [Return to text]

[67] Exactly like his own, but it was so much more luxurious to touch someone else’s feathers. It was like running his fingers through Aziraphale's hair. Okay, in that case the texture was slightly different, whereas their feathers felt the same, but it was still much nicer to run his fingers through Aziraphale's hair than his own. The same went for Aziraphale's feathers. Maybe it was the element of care and trust that was involved in Aziraphale welcoming such an intimate touch. [Return to text]

[68] Several more years for Aziraphale than for Crowley, but they’d both been dressing about the same since before Adam Young was born. [Return to text]

[69] Their wings produced natural oil, of course, but sometimes a demon wanted his wings to look _extra_ spiffy, such as when he thought that an angel who would actually use the word spiffy might see them.[70] In those instances, it was easy to produce a bit of extra oil via miracle to really make sure his feathers were perfect. [Return to text]

[70] On none of those occasions did the angel in question actually see Crowley's wings, but he might have, was the point. [Return to text]

[71] The answer was, of course, because he had believed he could. Remember, physics is something that only applies to angels and demons when they want it to, which makes flying much more fun. Gliding along on wind currents like birds can be enjoyable, but the real joy of flying was in ignoring physics and treating the sky like a playground. [Return to text]

[72] He too resembled a cat in the way he sprawled across Aziraphale's lap, but he resembled one that was lying in a position that looked horribly uncomfortable despite being perfectly at ease. The less said about the way they both played with each other’s wing feathers the better, as they were decidedly _not_ cats and would have been offended by the comparison if they hadn’t been so wrapped up in each other. [Return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. When I started out to write a massage fic, I had no idea it would turn into this monster. I hope you enjoyed and thank you for going on this ride with me.
> 
> Don't forget to let my lovely artists know how wonderful their work is.
> 
> I can be found on [Tumblr](https://peppervl.tumblr.com/), if that's your thing.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated and loved.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [GOBB Art for fic #233 Healing Hands - Lucky Demon's Foot (1941)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912507) by [AMadness2Method (CynSyn)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynSyn/pseuds/AMadness2Method)




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